Morale
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: Set in a Viet Cong prison camp. Murdock uses song to boost the morale of his fellow prisoners. But at what cost? Rated T for descriptions of unpleasant interrogation methods.
1. Chapter 1 Black Dog Comes To Play

Morale

AN: The songs I selected for Murdock to sing are from the 60s or earlier. They are: "I Get Around" by The Beach Boys, "The Yellow Rose of Texas" a traditional folk song, "California Dreamin'" by The Mamas and the Papas and "Strawberry Fields Forever" by The Beatles. Documents and testimonies from POWs who survived the prison camps in the early years of the war describe the whipping of POWs with strips of rubber from fan belts and tires. Instead of gaining useful information through them, interrogations did become a method of gaining material to use for propaganda purposes. The hanging method I describe was actually much worse and could result in dislocated shoulders and crippling injuries.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 1 Black Dog Come To Play

ooooooo

Sweat from his forehead trickled into his eyes, blurring his view of the thatched huts. Though he could not see them, he knew his fellow prisoners covertly watched him.

They did not dare approach him.

They did not dare speak to him.

He could sense their eyes on him throughout the stifling hot day and it heightened his sense of responsibility to them.

_What song should I sing now?_

One that would encourage Hannibal and the others yet not irritate the guards left to monitor and torment him. Trying to sigh over the sandpaper rasp in his throat, he decided there was no song which would prevent the latter from happening. He thought as quickly as his heat-affected, torture-assaulted mind would permit and almost snickered at the song that came to his thoughts.

_Oh, this'll get me lotsa trouble but the guys'll like it. Hope I can get 'nough of it out 'fore they shut me up. _

And Murdock started to sing.

_Round, round, get around, I get around,_

_Get around, get around, I get around . . ._

He thought he could make out B. A.'s muscular shape come out of the far hut followed by two other men. Maybe Face and the Colonel? He launched into the first verse, singing it as loud as he could.

_I'm gettin' bugged driving up and down the same old strip  
I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip  
My buddies and me are gettin' real well known  
Yeah, the bad guys know us and they leave us alone . . ._

One of the guards prodded his rifle barrel hard into Murdock's gut, cutting off the song.

"I thought _everybody _liked The Beach Boys," he pouted. The other guard gripped a broken fan belt in his hand. He swung his arm back and lashed the pilot across the back of his legs several times.

For a few moments he kept silent, feeling the searing pain of the blows. In his time at this POW camp, he witnessed men come back after whippings more severe than that with their skin as well as their ragged clothes hanging in shreds. Those kinds of open wounds rarely healed and often got infected. Some men died.

What he was enduring right now was not an attempt by the VC to collect information. Nor was it meant to get him to write a "confession" to his wrongdoing and condemn his country for the war. He knew that.

Had known that since early morning when he was dragged, hands bound tightly in front of him with coarsely fibered rope, from the hut he shared with B. A., Hannibal and Face.

Long ago he came to an understanding about the human condition. In every man there existed a bloodthirsty animal, a black dog. Most folks like himself were able to subdue the beast because the white dog inside them, the one that forgave and was merciful, kept the black dog cowering and impotent. Even B. A., as angry a mudsucker as he was, could control the black beast inside. Murdock could not understand the enemy's mindset, that insatiable urge to let the sadistic black dog out to prowl for prey.

Something about this war anesthetized the white dog and gave the black beast opportunity. The horrors of the war fed the black animal and left the white one to starve.

Once he was in the interrogation building, the camp commandant shot a few meaningless questions his way. Even then he knew the commandant was doing it as a formality. He was shoved onto the floor and received a few well-placed kicks to the belly and ribs when his answers displeased his interrogator. The blows sucked the breath from him but didn't let him drown in the dark pool of unconsciousness he had come to know as a welcome friend at such times.

That morning, Murdock glimpsed the black dog lurking behind the commandant's glinting black eyes. He comprehended what was about to happen to him and why. Today's agenda was all about demoralizing the other POWs and satisfying the black dog's lust to attack the powerless and draw blood.

As he left the building, he began to sing. He sensed it unnerved his captors when he did and maybe even robbed them of some of the satisfaction they ordinarily had when they tortured a POW.

_There's a yellow rose in Texas, that I am going to see,  
No other soldier knows her, no soldier only me  
She cried so when I left her it like to broke my heart,  
And if I ever find her, we nevermore will part._

He saw Heller stand up, swaying and grasping a corner of the hut to steady himself. Wilson staggered from the latrine area and gaped at Murdock. Both men straightened as if to salute. To actually do so would bring punishment but their posture showed him they recognized the song. They were both fellow Texans and he prayed it gave them a little hope.

A large tree stood on the other side of the fenced in prison yard. One of its thickest branches jutted over the fence and into the compound. Murdock never paid much attention to the tree or its overhanging branch in the past. The tree was too near the guard post to be a possible location to congregate or to escape. Only during the late afternoon did the tree cast its shadow across the yard and provide shade from the sun.

It was to the spot underneath that overhanging branch that Murdock, still singing, was alternately pushed and half-dragged by his two guards. Three crates were set up side by side. The two guards stepped onto the outer crates and lifted him up between themselves. It was a testimony to the meager rations he and the others received daily that they were able to lift him at all.

One of his captors took a length of rope from his belt and slung it over the branch, securing it with a knot and letting the two ends hang down. Murdock froze in place, his eyes growing wide, his chest heaving with his panicked breaths. He stopped singing.

_They ain't gonna do what I think they're gonna do, are they? _

In the distance he noticed a cluster of prisoners being herded to a location in the yard where they could observe what was about to happen. Murdock saw a burly black figure and a silver-haired man push their way to the front of the group. Both men grasped the arms of a third figure, preventing him from rushing across the yard toward the public spectacle.

The guards raised his bound hands toward the tree branch and secured the rope around those binding his wrists. They tightened the rope until his hands nearly touched the branch, then stepped down from the crates. Removing the middle crate from under his feet, they allowed him to dangle at least eighteen inches from the ground.

At first, the guards were content to let him hang by his wrists in the full sun. Pain radiated from the spots on his abdomen where he had been kicked. His wrists chafed as his full body weight was suspended in the air. His fingers first and then his hands turned numb. Thinking of songs that reminded him of the States occupied his thoughts and pushed back his pain.

He had never been to California in his life and probably would never get there but the way the songs painted it, he thought he'd like to visit. The Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'" came to his mind. He tried to sing both the Papas' lead and the Mamas' echo but found he couldn't manage with his breaths so constricted by his hanging position. The POWs who he knew from California paused in their camp duties to listen.

_All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey,  
I've been for a walk on a winter's day.  
I'd be safe and warm if I was in L. A.  
California dreamin' on such a winter's day._

He knew the black dogs had come out to play when one of his captors grinned at the other. The guard shoved Murdock back toward the fence and let go, allowing him to swing wildly back and forth. The motion sent new waves of pain through his arms. The other guard stepped forward and used the butt of his rifle to prod him and make him spin in a circle. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to focus on the lyrics.

_Stepped into a church I passed along the way.  
Well, I got down on my knees and I pretended to pray.  
You know the preacher likes the cold.  
He's knows I'm gonna stay.  
California dreamin' on such a winter's day. _

The heat of the day made every part of his body slick with perspiration. The tender skin around his wrists broke open with the chaffing and blood mingled with the sweat and trickled down his arms. The rags he wore as a shirt were as wet as if he had been in a Texas size cloudburst. Heat and humidity combined to make his head ache. He was dizzy.

He knew his captors thought he was weak and helpless. His courage and strength to endure was coming from his duty to his fellow POWs. A silly thought came to his mind and he almost giggled at its absurdity.

_I am Superman, currently slower than a speeding bullet and unable to leap tall buildings in a single bound. _

A guard brought two bowls of rice and fish to the men watching Murdock. He tried to avoid watching them enjoying their meal. Elsewhere around the camp, the men were receiving their rations of rice. With a sinking discernment, he realized that his next meal would be whenever he was cut down from the tree branch.

_Ain't it funny how ya take for granted somethin' simple as food and when ya can't have it, it becomes so important to ya. _

To pass the time, he sang. It kept his mind off the tempting aroma of the fish in the men's bowls. The only delicacies the POWs ever got was captured rats and snake meat from the reptiles that dwelt in the latrines.

_Let me take you down  
'Cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields  
Nothing is real  
And nothing to get hung about  
Strawberry Fields forever._

_Living is easy with eyes closed  
Misunderstanding all you see  
It's getting hard to be someone  
But it all works out  
It doesn't matter much to me. _

One of the guards finished his meal. With a crooked grin, he spoke to the other man, not knowing Murdock understood the Vietnamese language.

"Xem những gì sẽ xảy ra. (See what happens.)" He gestured with his bowl at the pilot and climbed up on one of the crates.

Murdock saw ten grains of rice and fish juices. The scent rose and made him lose focus. Holding the bowl a foot from Murdock, the guard dipped in to pinch the last few bits of food between his fingers. He brought his hand close to the pilot, then put the rice in his own mouth, sucking his fingers to get all of the food. He cleaned the bowl and laughed in Murdock's face.

The other guard laughed, too. The Captain didn't mean to but a small groan escaped his mouth. Once again wielding the broken rubber fan belt, the guard viciously slashed at the length of both of Murdock's legs.

"No more," he whispered before the darkness claimed him. His head lolled forward and his eyes closed.

Although no voices could be heard, the atmosphere registered the collective internal sigh of pity from those who had watched throughout the entire day.

The shadow from the tree was creeping across the yard toward the huts before Murdock was released from the tree branch. When the rope was cut, he fell onto the ground, wrists still bound together. His arms were stiffened into the raised position he had maintained most of that day. The guards dragged him to the hut and cast his limp body onto the floor. Glancing at each of the three men, one guard lowered his gun and threatened them with it while both he and his companion backed out of the hut.

B. A. growled his anger at what they had done while Hannibal put one hand on the big man's chest to order him to restrain himself.

Face wasn't looking at the two guards. He knelt on the floor beside Murdock, pulling at the rope around his wrists, trying to loosen the knot.

The pilot opened his brown eyes to half slits. The corners of his mouth turned upward in more of a grimace than a smile as he muttered, "They just ain't music lovers, I guess."


	2. Chapter 2 Black Dog Growls

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: Some readers suggested I continue this story. Much thanks to them. I am grateful for their encouragement. This story will be posted a little slower than my others.

The songs mentioned in this chapter are "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" by The Righteous Brothers from 1964 and "Born To Be Wild" by Steppenwolf released in 1968. I strongly suggest listening to the songs when you read those lyrics. They can be found on YouTube.

Documentary narratives about the Viet Nam POW experience may also be seen on YouTube by typing in the phrase "Vietnam POW" or "Vietnam POW cells." The conditions in the camp as I have written are mild compared to these narratives.

ooooo

Chapter 2 Black Dog Growls

As soon as the guards were gone, the burly Sergeant picked Murdock up from the dirt floor and carefully laid him on his stomach on one of the plank beds. B. A. knelt by the Captain's head to push his shoulders down while Face did the same with his feet.

The chaffed broken skin on Murdock's wrists and the many bleeding contusions on the backs of his legs had to be treated before the wounds became infected. Fibers from the coarse rope imbedded in the bloody lacerations around his wrists had to be plucked out one at a time.

His ordeal with his VC torturers over, the injured man allowed the delirium he had been controlling to take over his thoughts.

He babbled. His talk was directed to his Gramma and Grampa, old classmates, a favorite horse, someone or something called Billy, but not toward anyone serving in Viet Nam.

"Hãy để tôi đi! (Let me go!)" he screamed when the Colonel dipped a rag in the water bowl and tended to a wound a quarter inch deep on the back of his right thigh. Every muscle of his body quivered with pain. That and his ragged breathing complicated Hannibal's job.

"Colonel, it'll be worse for him if the VC find out he knows their language beyond simple conversational Vietnamese." Face had all he could manage preventing Murdock from jerking his ankles free from his grip.

"Faceman's right. We gotta keep the fool quiet." B. A. agreed, his voice reflecting his mixed anger and worry.

Hannibal paused from his medical duties to select one of the longer strips of cloth that was cleaner than the rest. "I hate having to do this," he muttered as he muffled the younger man's cries with the gag.

Murdock's screams died down to whimpers. Dehydrated from the heat and humidity, he cried through the rest of the medical treatment but could not form tears. The stress of resisting B. A. and Face and the pain from the wound washing was too much for him and he passed out.

It took Hannibal most of the rest of the afternoon to address the worst of the damage.

Finally the task was finished. Hannibal ran his wrist across his eyes to wipe away sweat and removed the gag from Murdock's mouth. Face moved closer to the injured man's head and sat on the dirt floor. He stared at his friend's gaunt face and closed eyes, willing him to wake up but knowing sleep would heal the wounds faster.

Without looking at the Colonel, he muttered, "How do you think he was able to hold on like that? Singing all those songs, knowing exactly which ones would boost our spirits. I don't understand him sometimes."

"Man's crazy. Coulda stopped singin' anytime 'n' they wouldn'ta done half of what they did." B. A. stared down at the unconscious Captain. He gave the bowl with the small portion of rice they had saved from their own rations to Face to feed to Murdock when he woke later.

Hannibal sighed and moved toward his own plank bed. "Let's just hope they don't come back tomorrow wanting a repeat performance."

Early the next morning before sunlight began to touch the camp, Murdock woke to the noise of a rat gnawing at wood somewhere close to his head. He cautiously tilted his aching head until he could see the rodent's tail within a foot of his outstretched hand. Normally he would have used a piece of wood to try to kill the creature. Any of them except Face would do that to get extra protein for their meager diet.

_Gotta hit a rat jus' right or it'll bitecha. Don't need any rat-borne diseases comin' my way. _

His shoulder still ached from being suspended by his wrists. He couldn't draw his hand back from its position so he murmured, "Gotta spare you this time, lil' guy. But when I'm back in shape, ya better find some other bed to nibble on." He drifted back to sleep when he saw the rat's tail slip from the coarse wood of his makeshift bed to the floor.

The next time he woke, two VC guards were standing at the doorway, weapons drawn against the other three men. A third guard slipped forward and pulled Murdock to his feet. He produced a length of rope like the one used the previous day and bound the Captain's wrists tightly in front of him. The third guard pushed him to the doorway.

"Wait." Hannibal's voice was angry.

Murdock shook his head at his three companions, warning them to be quiet. Then he gave them a foolish grin. "How can I refuse to give an encore for my adoring fans?" he said in a grandiose stage voice. "Ta ta. I'll be back for champagne and caviar after the concert." The third man pushed him and one of the other guards rifle-butted him out the door.

Hannibal, Face and B. A. heard the sound of a body hitting the dirt. None of them dared to look but they knew Murdock had stumbled and sprawled face down on the ground. They also knew the three guards would not be gentle about picking him up and taking him to the interrogation building.

As his guards forced him to move, Murdock's gaze involuntarily went to the overhanging tree branch. He moaned inside when he saw the rope still tied around the branch and the same three crates on the ground below.

_Guess the black dog does want a command performance. _

It would be so easy to give in to whatever demands the commandant wanted of him this time. But he knew he couldn't. Deep down, he knew fearful submission fed the black dog inside the VC commandant. It would allow the black dog to become more ravenous for blood.

Even as they entered the building for a repeat of the interrogation of the previous day, Murdock was selecting the songs he would sing.

He was right. The commandant, the black dog sizing him up from behind the glittering hate-filled eyes, asked the same trivial questions and shoved him onto the floor to receive more kicks to the lower abdomen and ribs. When he spoke, it was with the threatening growl of the blood-crazed black dog.

"Anh ta ra ngoài. Để cho anh ta treo. (Take him out. Let him hang.)"

As soon as he and his captors reached the door, he burst out in song. Maybe a little of The Righteous Brothers to give the guys a good laugh. At least, the lyrics would show an ironic flair.

_You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips. _

_And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips._

_You're trying hard not to show it,_

_But baby, baby I know it . . . _

_You've lost that lovin' feelin',_

_Oh, that lovin' feelin' . . . _

He was dragged by his bound wrists to the same overhanging branch. His guards stood on the outside crates to lift him up to stand between them. His wrists were extended upward, the rope was slipped between his bindings and he was hoisted up toward the branch. The crate was removed and he hung again. His arms, already aching from the previous day, felt as if they were on fire. He bit his tongue to prevent the groan that wanted to escape his lips.

_Like some insane TV show rerun. Well, what should I sing for the audience?_

He considered. Some hell-raisin' freedom song. That would do it.

_Get your motor runnin'_

_Head out on the highway_

_Lookin' for adventure_

_And whatever comes our way_

_Yeah, darlin', go make it happen_

_Take the world in a love embrace_

_Fire all of your guns at once_

_And explode into space_

He was just about to groove on the chorus "born to be wild" when one of the guards stepped up on a crate. Removing something from his pocket, Murdock was temporarily dumbstruck when the guard slipped a heavy cloth rag over his eyes and tied it tightly in the back.

The Captain couldn't figure out why a blindfold was used instead of a gag. Now that he couldn't identify which of his fellow prisoners might be milling about outside, he would have to be generic in his choices. He decided to go patriotic. Couldn't go wrong with that. It'd drive his guards crazy if they knew what he was singing but it couldn't be helped.

He was not going to be the cause for his fellow POWs to lose hope.


	3. Chapter 3 Black Dogs Nip

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: Pretty long chapter this time. Couldn't find a good breaking point.

There is a story of a newly captured man being tortured with fire ants by VC sympathizing villagers. Red fire ants were a constant source of irritation for the soldier in Viet Nam.

The songs included here are Woody Guthrie's "This Land Is Your Land," George M. Cohan's "I'm A Yankee Doodle Dandy," "Dixie" written by Daniel Decatur Emmett in 1859 and "God Bless America" by Irving Berlin.

Chapter 3 Black Dogs Nip

Blood streamed from the jagged lacerations around his wrists. His arms felt like they would detach from his body with one more prod from either of his guards' rifle butts. As he swayed above the ground, blindfolded, his world a black void, his thoughts flashed to memories of home.

Riding his paint gelding Flyboy along Grayburg Road and under the longleaf and loblolly pines of his grandparents' southeastern Texas homestead. He could almost smell the leather of the weathered saddle, the lather of the horse under him and the dust of the footpaths.

Then home to Gramma's cooking. Maybe the cinnamon-laced fragrance of an apple pie baking in the gas oven or the savory scent of a beef pot roast on a Sunday afternoon.

A wave of homesickness brought tears to his eyes, tears which would never be seen under the coarse fabric of the dirty olive drab blindfold. He let them come. It was rare that he could allow the emotionally battered child in him express how much he missed home and hated this land of decay and almost constant pain and suffering.

He was the second highest ranking officer in the camp. With the title of captain came an obligation to the other men. The sound of POWs moving about the camp brought him back to the present.

_They got memories of home, too. Theirs are jus' as clear and hurt jus' as bad. My audience is waitin'. _

He thought about the mixed background of his audience. Face who grew up in an orphanage in California. Heller and Wilson, fellow Texans but from different areas of the state than he was. Cassel and Greenberg, both born in the Bronx. B. A. and his childhood memories of Chicago, the Windy City. Kellerman, a native Nebraskan, accustomed to flat lands with few trees. Hannibal . . . never quite found out where he was from . . . he came from somewhere, though. He drew in a deep shaky breath and began to sing.

_This land is your land,  
This land is my land,  
From California  
To the New York Island,  
From the redwood forest,  
To the Gulf stream waters,  
This land was made for you and me._

His voice quavered as he sang the next verse. The endless skyway. If the VC knew how precious that endless skyway was to him, they would know how best to break him. They could take away the brilliant blue of the sky canopy for today. It would make it all the greater treasure when he saw it again.

_As I was walking,  
That ribbon of highway,  
I saw above me  
That endless skyway,  
I saw below me  
That golden valley.  
This land was made for you and me._

The guards were using bamboo switches today instead of the rubber fan belt. He knew the difference instantly when the cutting edges bit into the wounds of the previous day. He stopped singing to avoid giving voice to the piercing screams that wanted to escape. Once again, he reflected on how little training he had received to master the art of enduring torture. But then, how could the Army train men for something as horrendous as this? The CIA did a bit better, but still not enough.

Again and again, the bamboo switches whistled through the air before finding their mark and drawing blood. He bit on the inside of his cheek to enforce his own silence. When the lashes stopped raining down on his legs, he picked up the song where he left off.

_I've roamed and rambled  
And I've followed my footsteps  
To the sparkling sands of  
Her diamond deserts  
And all around me  
A voice was sounding  
This land was made for you and me._

He tried to stop the tremor in his voice but it came out anyway. Would he see the sun again after today? How soon before the black dogs' nips turned into ravenous flesh-consuming bites?

_When the sun comes shining  
And I am strolling  
And the wheat fields waving  
And the dust clouds rolling  
As the fog was lifting  
A voice was calling  
This land was made for you and me._

Murdock noticed how the blindfold that deprived him of his sight served to increase the sensitivity of his other senses. One of the POWs with dysentery, and who among them had not been afflicted with that?, explosively released the contents of his bowels into the communal latrine. Sound and smell told him that. He grimaced.

Small sounds, like the faraway drumming of a woodpecker on a dead tree and the cackling call of a nearby bird, things that he didn't usually identify during a normal day in the camp, were magnified. The faint rumble of B. A.'s angry voice drifted across the compound yard.

_Don' the mudsucker know if he says too much too loud, he's gonna get it worse than me?_

Time to find a new song.

_Somethin' that'll soothe the savage beastie. _

He was sure it wouldn't soothe his VC guards, but he chose another patriotic song from his memory. A little George M. Cohan this time? Murdock wasn't a Yankee but he knew many of the guys were.

_I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy  
A Yankee Doodle, do or die  
A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam  
Born on the Fourth of July._

_I've got a Yankee Doodle sweetheart  
She's my Yankee Doodle joy  
Yankee Doodle came to London  
Just to ride the ponies  
I am that Yankee Doodle boy._

He let the corners of his mouth flicker upward. A real smile might invite more whipping.

_That's for you, Big Guy. And now something for Heller and Wilson. _

He considered singing "The Yellow Rose of Texas" again but then decided against it. Another barely perceptible smile and he began.

_Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton,  
Old times there are not forgotten,  
Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land._

_I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray!  
In Dixie Land I'll take my stand  
To live and die in Dixie.  
Away, away, away down south in Dixie.  
Away, away, away down south in Dixie._

He couldn't resist singing the next verse, the verse that unified him with Heller and Wilson and the other Southerners in the camp.

_In Dixie Land, where I was born in,  
Early on one frosty mornin',  
Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land._

He remembered Gramma and Grampa, die-hard Southerners who grew up in the first two decades of the twentieth century, singing that song with him.

_Gramma at that ol' outta tune piano 'n' Grampa 'n' me either side of her. God, I miss them. _

More tears came and were absorbed into the fabric of the blindfold. The memories hurt almost as bad as his swelling hands, overstretched arm muscles and reopened wounds. He almost forgot the VC guards on either side of him.

"Điều này sẽ im lặng anh ta. (This will silence him.)"

_They gonna gag me? Whip me 'til I pass out? _

Not seeing what was going to happen, he braced himself for the unknown. He felt one of the guards tuck something in the rubber sandal on his right foot. When nothing else seemed to happen, he strained to listen for any sound that would betray their intentions. He couldn't hear them and sensed they were waiting and watching, but for what?

Just as he thought they had decided against following through with their plans, he felt it. A multitude of tiny tickling sensations crawled up his leg and explored his raw wounds.

He remembered one of the Special Forces men from another hut talking about them, describing the biting ants that clustered in balls they made of leaves. When one of those dropped from the trees and broke on a soldier on the move, he would go nearly crazy trying to get them off. They had a bite about one-third as bad as a bee sting.

The POW heard of one man who was tied down, his face directly on top of a cluster of biting ants. The prisoner went into shock from the amount of formic acid in their bites.

As a child, Murdock had personal experience with fire ants. He hadn't looked where he was going and stepped barefoot on top of a large mound of dirt. When he felt the ants scurrying all over his feet, he froze. He could barely walk for two days after.

He almost panicked when he felt the first bite. He knew the VC guards would allow the little devils to continue to work their way up his leg. Maybe he would die from the shock of so many bites. He knew he would never see the sky again this side of Paradise. His breaths hitched in his chest as the ants made his leg feel like it was ablaze. One last song, one more . . .

_God bless America,  
Land that I love,  
Stand beside her and guide her  
Thru the night with a light from above;_

_From the mountains, to the prairies,  
To the oceans white with foam,  
God bless America,  
My home, sweet home.  
God bless A . . . merica . . .  
My . . . home . . . sweet . . . home . . ._

He finished the song and then surrendered himself to whatever the good Lord would do with his soul.


	4. Chapter 4 Black Dogs At Night

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: The camp code was a communication code based upon a grid system in which letters of the alphabet were each assigned two numbers to be tapped out. "A" was one tap followed by one tap based on its position on the grid.

"All Night, All Day" is a traditional song sometimes said to be a spiritual, sometimes a children's song. Its writer is unknown. The lyrics to the hymn "Amazing Grace" were written by John Newton. "The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond" is a traditional Scottish song.

The CIA program MKUltra was conducted from the early 1950s to 1973. It was both covert and illegal and used human test subjects, many times without their knowledge. The U. S. Congress through the Church Committee and the Rockefeller Commission held hearings on it.

Chapter 4 Black Dogs At Night

When he woke he wondered for several moments where he was. The rough-textured blindfold was still in place and the hands he could no longer feel were still extended by his bound wrists above his head.

The fire ants had made their way up to his face. He felt one scurry across his cheek and disappear as it reached the cloth. He was thankful his eyelids were shut when the blindfold was tied around his eyes. The ants which crawled under the cloth and became trapped between blindfold and skin took out their fury on his eyelids and the tender area around his eyes. The blindfold tightened over his face as the multiple bites swelled.

But not even the ants and their painful bites could hold his attention. Something had changed but without sight he could not tell what it was.

He listened for the sounds of the camp. Instead, the intense whine of mosquitoes filled his ears.

_If those bloodsuckers're out, it mus' be jus' 'bout dark. _

His empty stomach churned as he realized they intended to leave him hanging longer than the previous day. If he hung there through the night, the biting insects of the jungle around them would have a little picnic all up and down his raw and bleeding legs.

_'N' not jus' my legs. Guards musta had a lotta fun while I was outta it. _

Fire ants, mosquitoes and flies explored what must be newly opened gashes across his bared back and chest. He couldn't feel blood trickling down but each congealed sticky trail on his skin from the day's torture was attracting a conga line of hungry nighttime insects.

_Least the sun ain' burnin' me t' a crisp anymore. _

Night meant sleep for everyone else in the camp. He wasn't sure if it was night but if it was, he shouldn't keep the POWs awake with his singing.

From his CIA training, he knew sensory deprivation was almost as good of a weapon as bamboo switches and broken rubber fan belts for driving a prisoner close to insanity. It was one of the dirty dark memories he kept locked away and hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind: his few months as an unwilling volunteer in CIA-directed mind control experiments collectively known as MKUltra.

He shook his head as much as he felt he could without attracting the attention of his guards. Those memories were best left buried. They were the type of nightmarish ghosts he wished had never taken up residence in his brain. That his own government would conduct such experiments . . .

_I love my country. If I think on that stuff too much, the VC'll have me spoutin' what I know. Ain' much but they'll have it. _

So he tried to prevent the past from resurfacing in the present. The hours before dawn promised to be almost unbearable if he had to be silent. The sting of a bamboo switch across his legs told him his guards noticed his head movement and knew he was conscious.

_Black dogs wanna get rough 'gain. They don' know they're doin' me a service, holdin' the nightmares at bay._

A faint tapping sound from one of the huts attracted his attention. It was the code of the camp. While the switches descended again and again on his bare legs, back and chest, he strained to hear.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . . . . . tap-tap . . . tap-tap . . . _

The tapped code repeated, this time from another hut.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . . . . . tap-tap . . . tap-tap . . . _

And again until he could distinguish which letters of the alphabet were being transmitted.

_S-G. _

He felt his eyes burn with the tears that could not come because of dehydration. Even without the missing letters, he knew what the abbreviated word was.

And he began to sing softly to his fellow POWs. He didn't know how many could not sleep in the sticky lingering heat of the jungle but they had encouraged him to sing. They knew he needed to.

His thoughts turned to his grandparents waiting for word from him. Would he ever see them again?

_All night, all day,  
Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.  
All night, all day,  
Angels watchin' over me._

He remembered how Gramma used to put a swing to the beat on the out of tune piano as they sang that one. When he was five years old, after Mama died, he thought the idea of angels in his room at night was a little scary. Now he thought of angels watching him through the long hours of torture and giving him the strength to go on.

_Sun's a-settin' in the West;  
Angels watchin' over me, my Lord.  
Sleep my child, take yer rest;  
Angels watchin' over me._

Gramma was his strength in that first year after Mama's death. Every night he woke up with nightmares about the hospital and Mama's final rattling breaths. She rocked him back to sleep in time to her singing but it was her love and not the song she sang that reassured him. To a child who already saw monsters in the shape of his drunken angry father, angels were no more than frightening creatures who would take him away from the last people on earth who loved him unconditionally. But those fears were no more since he had become a man.

_If I should die 'fore I wake,  
Angels watchin' over me, my Lord._

_Pray the Lord my soul to keep,  
Angels watchin' over me. _

That was the hope he clung to each time he fell into unconsciousness.

_How many'll be dead from disease or injury when the sun rises in th' mornin'? Will I be one o' them? _

Gramma was a righteous woman. More than Grampa, she taught him about the God in whom she trusted. He could see her sitting in the pew, one eye on the minister behind the lectern, the other on her mischievous grandson beside her. Her once-reddish-blonde hair, streaked with silver, was always carefully braided and pinned under a veiled hat. One hand held her Bible open to the page the minister referenced in his sermon. The other hand readied itself to haul a young H. M. up from the floor if he sneaked down to play with army soldiers and toy airplanes hidden in his pockets.

_She was always surprised when I could tell Grampa what the message was 'bout when we got home later. My memory saved my hide from a tannin' lotsa times._

He remembered Gramma's favorite hymn. Maybe it was a favorite because it could sound so mournful when played by bagpipes. Maybe it was the lyrics. Gramma could even forgive John Newton for being an Englishman.

_Amazing grace! How sweet the sound  
That saved a wretch like me.  
I once was lost, but now am found,  
Was blind but now I see._

Blind. He guessed right about now he understood a little bit about what a relief it would be to have blindness removed. To be able to see with crystal clarity once again would be welcome, even if the surrounding world was revealed to be one of suffering and needless cruelty.

_'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear  
And grace that fear relieved  
How precious did that grace appear  
The hour I first believed. _

Fear. Now there was a concept he had plenty of experience with. Not so much over here, where his trademark whooping cry and an occasional delusion got him through the worst barrages of ground fire. No, his fear traced its origins to his childhood and his father. It was from that origin he had learned to use song to defeat demons.

_Through many dangers, toils, and snares  
I have already come  
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far  
And grace will lead me home. _

There it was again: that word that made his heart grow weary and sick within. Home. According to the song, grace was going to get him home safely. He tried to remember what his Gramma had said about grace.

_Grace. It's like somethin' good ya get that ya know ya don' really deserve. Can' earn it. Don' deserve it. God jus' gives it to ya like a totally unexpected free ticket ta see the circus. Least that's how Gramma 'splained it. _

Thoughts of his Gramma and Grampa made him homesick. They were proud people, proud of their Scottish heritage, proud of Texas, proud of the Confederacy. He remembered an old Scottish song the two of them sang, Grampa's hands gently resting on Gramma's shoulders as she played.

_By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,  
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,  
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae  
On the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond. _

He remembered the bonnie lassie he left behind when he left Sour Lake, Texas, and headed west. Cynthia Berquon. He and she talked about marriage at one time. She was his equal in intellectual ability and oh, so sweet. If he were ever able to go home, she would be the first after his grandparents he would visit.

_O' ye'll tak th' high road 'n' I'll tak th' low road,  
'N' I'll be in Scotland afore ye  
But me 'n' my true love'll never meet again,  
On the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond. _

He used to call her Buttercup. Her sunny disposition and her tender smile were like the bright yellow flowers that lifted their faces to the Texas skies even in rain storms. Memories of their times together filled his mind and made his heart ache. He knew she didn't understand why he had left so suddenly. Would she ever accept him back?

_Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen,  
On the steep steep side o' Ben Lomond,  
Where in deep purple hue, the Hieland hills we view,  
'N' the moon comin' oot in the gloamin'.  
_

The moon must be out by now, bathing the compound with a silvery light. He wondered if he cast a shadow and how far across the ground his shadow stretched. Taking a breath to begin another chorus, he exhaled when he heard the sound of the wooden crates being drawn up near his dangling feet.

_Maybe the black dogs're finally satisfied. _

The sound of rope being cut and the slight vibration of the bonds around his wrists told him he was being cut down. His legs would not support his weight and he collapsed onto the dirt.

"Chọn anh ta lên. Mang lại cho anh ta. (Pick him up. Bring him.)" He knew that voice.

_If they take me back to the interrogation room . . . _

He shivered from pain and dread. Lifting him between themselves, they dragged him, his legs trailing, his body limp, across the camp yard. He prayed for darkness to cloud his mind for what he was certain would follow.


	5. Chapter 5 Black Dog Bites Down

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 5 Black Dog Bites Down

"You hear that, Hannibal?" The whisper from across the thatched hut didn't wake the Colonel. He was already awake and had been ever since that morning when the three VC guards removed Murdock from their midst.

It wasn't difficult to figure out what noise Face was referring to. The scraping of wood against dirt was different from the ambient night sounds of the surrounding rainforest.

"Think they're gonna bring him back here, Colonel?" B. A.'s voice was uncharacteristically soft.

"Let's hope so." Hannibal feigned sleep in case one of the guards entered the hut before bringing Murdock in. B. A. and Face followed his example.

None of them wanted to be the next POW to incur the wrath of their captors.

Each of them would have allowed himself to be taken that morning instead of Murdock.

But that had been decided by the head VC officer. It was a non-negotiable decision based upon the challenge Murdock's indomitable spirit presented to the commandant.

The Captain could no more extinguish the hope and sense of honor and self-sacrifice that made up the fiber of his character than he could make his brown eyes a shade to match the azure sky he loved so much.

The three soldiers waited and listened to every noise coming from the yard no matter how small that wasn't part of the nighttime jungle. It was difficult to believe the sound of a knife cutting through rope could provide so much relief but it did.

The next sound, one of something man-size thudding to the dirt, almost sent B. A. and Face up on their feet. If Hannibal had not muttered, "Steady, men," they would have been at the door. They would have seen Murdock sprawl in the dirt, his arms locked in the upright position they had been in all day. They would have seen the two guards grip him by the arms to drag his seemingly lifeless body away.

The dragging sounds receded from their hearing and Face groaned a low, "Oh God, no. Hannibal."

"They'll bring him back to us. He hasn't survived this long through this many beatings to die now. He'll be back." Hannibal wished he believed his own whispered reassurances as the three men waited for Murdock's return.

oooooo

They dumped Murdock on the dirt floor of the interrogation hut.

"Có được anh ta đứng dậy. (Get him to his feet.)" The VC leader snapped at the two guards.

Forcing his arms down in front of him, the guards pulled him up to sway on feet that had not touched the ground for almost eighteen hours.

"Hủy bỏ bịt mắt. (Remove the blindfold.)"

He was so relieved at those words, he almost showed his understanding with a sigh of relief. Then he remembered they should never discover he knew their language so well. He would almost certainly be tortured to death if they did.

One of the VC jerked the rough cloth from his face. He opened his eyes as far as he could. The formic acid from the fire ant bites had puffed up the eyelids and skin around his eyes. Through swollen slits he squinted at the interrogator. A guard grabbed a handful of his hair from behind and cuffed his ear with an open palm, hard enough to make his ear ring for seconds afterward. He forced the pilot to bow to the man he faced.

Black marble eyes glinted as a sly smile crept across the officer's face. In broken English he sneered, "American pilot want to write grandparents? Tell them he is well?"

Murdock's heart nearly stopped at the mention of the people who had raised him for twelve years.

_How does he know 'bout them? _

He heard his own pounding heartbeat in his ears and hoped the VC officer didn't hear it, too. Keeping his expression as neutral as he could, he tightened his lips and continued to stare at the glittering black dog eyes.

_Everybody's got gran'parents. That mus' be it. A lucky guess. No more 'n that._

"You are from Texas?"

_'Nother lucky guess or somethin' else? Okie dokie. Let's see how smart he is. _

"Yes."

"What does your father do?"

_May know where I'm from but I bet he don' know 'bout Pa. _

"Pa's on a cattle drive right 'bout now, headin' west on the Sante Fe Trail."

_Truth is, Pa's prob'ly huggin' some bar stool in Beaumont but this guy don' know it. _

"Ah, your father is a cowboy?"

_So much for their intelligence gatherin'. _

"'N' when he ain' runnin' cattle, he's organizin' buffalo hunts with the native Cherokee Indian tribe." Murdock took a deep breath and intoned, "Anagisdi Tsásgino. (Go hell)." He added, "That's Cherokee for 'good hunt.'"

_'Portant thing is I say it with a straight face so he lets me get 'way with it. He ain' that stupid. Gotta be careful. _

"And your mother?"

"Takes care o' the ranch while Pa 'n' I 're gone."

_'Nother lie. Ma's been dead for 'most twenty years. He don' know squat 'bout my family. _

He knew if he didn't stop thinking about home, the memories would tempt him to slip and say something he shouldn't.

_What'd Gramma always say? One lie builds on 'nother 'til the whole house o' cards falls down. _

Discovered lies would mean more torture. The lead officer's glinting marble eyes could not hide the ravenous black dog that wanted to see how much the pilot would endure. Any reason to test Murdock's pain threshold would do.

_I can see it in 'is eyes. I'm not gonna be sent back t' the hut right 'way. _

"She would want a letter. You write?"

_Ah, so that's what this's 'bout. _

He remembered Article V of the Code of Conduct and realized by playing his game he may have already said too much. Name, rank, serial number, and date of birth were the only things he was supposed to offer. Anything more was to be given only when he could no longer endure the pain.

_How could I of been so stupid? _

He would give no more information, not even false biographical information. Visualizing himself using his bound hands to close his mouth with a pretend zipper, then padlocking it, he stared back at the officer.

"You refuse?"

_Nope, I already threw 'way the key. Won' get nothin' more outta me._

The officer in charge motioned with his head. The guard cut the ropes binding Murdock's wrists together only to grip his arms and force them behind him. With careful deliberation, he bound his wrists again. Using slip knots and all of his strength, the guard continued to bind Murdock's arms tightly together on up to the elbows. With each cinching action, the pilot bit into the side of his cheek to prevent any sound from escaping.

_I . . . won' . . . show . . . weakness . . ._

Murdock felt his arms from the elbows on down to the tips of his fingers slowly go numb. When they forced his shoulders and ribs into so unnatural a position, the resulting pain became intense and unremitting.

_Now what? I know this ain' the end o' what this bastard wants t' do. _

The other VC guard forced the pilot to sit on a wooden crate and lashed his ankles together. The interrogator produced another rope, this one with a noose tied in one end of it. Murdock flinched at the sight of it.

_They gonna hang me by the neck now? _

Passing the noose over the pilot's neck, the officer growled at one of the guards. "Nâng hai cánh tay của mình! (Raise his arms!)"

The guards, one on either side of him, lifted his arms up until the interrogator secured the other end of the rope around his wrists. As soon as they released their hold, his arms drooped slightly, tightening the noose around his neck. His panicked eyes flickered up into the face of the interrogator. The sly smile was back in its place.

_If I don' keep my arms up, I'll choke t' death. _

Murdock whimpered with the new excruciating pain in his shoulders.

_How long can I hol' out? How long 'fore he lets me die? Be so easy t' let the ropes finish it here 'n' now. _

A sudden movement at the door of the hut distracted his attention from his struggle. A third guard bowed and reported to the senior officer. "Gần như tất cả đã được chuẩn bị sẵn sàng. (Nearly all has been readied.)"

The officer nodded. "Chúng ta bắt đầu di chuyển vào chiều mai. (We begin moving tomorrow afternoon.)"

Murdock hid the anxiety the words he heard stirred inside him. He gritted his teeth against his physical pain as the officer and the three guards discussed the move further north toward the DMZ. Pretending he was not listening to their chatter, the pilot breathed in every word with growing worry.

_They don' know they jus' gave me a reason t' hang on. _

He had to get back to the guys conscious and able to move. They had to find an opportunity before they and their captors reached the line of no escape.


	6. Chapter 6 Black Dog's Fury

Morale

AN: The song is "The Wanderer" (1961) by Dion.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 6 Black Dog's Fury

"No sound from Murdock. No singing, no screams, nothing." Face whispered his concerns to B. A. and Hannibal. "You think he's still alive?"

There. The Lieutenant put words to the reason the three of them were still awake a half hour after they heard the pilot being dragged away across the camp courtyard.

"Shut up, Peck," B. A. grunted. "Don't wanna hear talk like that."

"Listen!" Hannibal hissed.

In the distance a faint muffled baritone voice stuttered out a song. Every three or four word phrase was punctuated by either seconds of silence or a cry of pain.

"God, Hannibal. How much can one man take?" Face slung an arm over his eyes and shifted restlessly on the wooden platform that served as a bed.

"I don't know, Lieutenant," the Colonel muttered.

From B. A.'s area of the hut there was an angry growl as a scream louder than the rest overpowered the normal night sounds of the jungle and gurgled away to nothing.

oooooo

The VC leader stepped out of the interrogation hut for a few seconds and Murdock let out as much of a sigh of relief as his constricted rib cage would allow.

_I got 'til tomorrow afternoon 'fore some 'r all o' us're takin' a little walk up north. _

He knew the VC shifted small groups of prisoners between prisons and camps quite often. It disrupted the POW chain of command, kept them from getting too familiar with each other, formulating escape plans.

_But what if I'm not slated t' go north? Even if they let me go back t' the hut with the guys, we might be split 'part anyway. I gotta warn 'em, let 'em know case there's a chance t' escape, but how? _

He shifted position on the crate and clenched his teeth against the pain in his chest and shoulders. One of the two guards who were left to watch him backhanded him, nearly knocking him onto the floor. The noose around his neck tightened in his involuntary reaction to the blow.

With his ankles bound together, he had less ability to right himself. He had to stay balanced on the crate. A fall to the floor invited kicks to the ribcage and face. The broken bleeding skin of his legs and buttocks pressed down on the hard wooden surface and created a whole new level of agony.

The pajama-like pants all POWs were given to wear were already glued to the length of his lower body by his own congealed blood. With little water to spare, the process of peeling the shredded clothing from the wounds would not be easy for Hannibal. More than likely they would open again when the beginnings of scabs were lifted away with the threadbare ripped cloth. A silly thought came to his mind but his pain was too intense to allow him to do more than wheeze out a small snort.

_Maybe the next jammies they give me t' wear'll have footies in 'em. _

The interrogating officer stepped back inside, a lit cigarette in his hand. He drew in a long drag from it, inhaling deeply before allowing the smoke to curl from his mouth and nose. It drifted through the air toward the Captain. He noted how much the officer resembled a smoke-breathing dragon.

_Never could stand the smell o' a smoker. Nasty habit. Gramma was right t' keep it outta the house. _

Murdock peered through swollen eyes upward at the approaching man. In the leader's other hand was a broken fan belt. He drooped his head slightly in the requisite bow and groaned internally, hoping he had not displayed his dread in his expression.

The interrogator leered at him, lifting his chin to get his attention. "You will write letter now?"

"I can't see t' write. Eyes're swelled shut."

_But not 'nough. I can still see yer ugly face if I squint. _

For his refusal to cooperate, one of the guards pushed the pilot off the crate onto the dirt floor. Seconds later, stomach down, he felt the first searing stings of the fan belt across his thighs.

It was then he thought of the perfect song that might tell Hannibal and the others about the information he had overheard.

_Jus' hope someone understan's what I'm tryin' t' tell 'em._

It would be harder than hell to take the type of breaths he needed to do a decent job but then he never fancied himself to be like Dion either. The important thing was the message.

He took as deep of a breath as he could with his chest hugging the ground, his throat raised as high as he could get it to loosen the noose and his ribs spread apart to accommodate his bound arms. Pausing every three or four words for a quick painful breath, he bellowed out the song as loudly as he could under the circumstances.

I'm the type o' guy . . . that likes t' . . . roam 'round . . . "

A brutal slash to his buttocks made him suck in the next breath and let out an involuntary shrill cry.

_Jus' like the doc slappin' a newborn babe to get 'im t' breathe._

He pulled in another breath before the next blow struck its mark.

"I'm never . . . in one place . . . I roam . . . from town t' town."

"Quiet!" The interrogator's sharp tone betrayed his increasing rage. If he wasn't in so much agony, Murdock would have liked to see how far he could push the man's buttons.

The voice of reason inside him warned, _That ain' a smart idea. _

He knew the torture could get much worse. His shoulders already felt like they could pop out of their sockets. They might find some way to hitch his bound arms up over a pole and leave him hanging, belly facing the ground. That would finish the job. Both shoulders would be dislocated and he'd be in even worse shape than he already was.

He tried to concentrate on the words of the song but couldn't remember.

_Gonna hafta skip the next little bit. Hope the guys understan'. _

He forced air into his lungs only to feel it explode back out with a kick to his ribs. Another cry escaped his lips with the air. His arms dropped a few inches and tightened the rope around his throat.

_I'm gonna die. _

He had only so much strength to hold his arms up while they were in such an awkward and painful position.

_Sooner 'r later, I'll get too tired t' hold 'em up 'n' the rope'll choke me t' death. 'N' the more this baboon keeps kickin' at me, the faster that'll happen. _

He took another breath, resolved to finish the refrain before his breath was gone forever. Cigarette smoke wafted toward him.

"Yeah, I'm the wanderer . . . yeah . . . the wanderer . . . I roam . . . around . . . around . . . around . . ."

The officer shrilled an infuriated, "Cooperate or die!" With one foot he pressed down on the pilot's bound forearms while he ground out the cigarette in one of the open wounds on the captive's thigh. The pain in his shoulders was so intense, Murdock screamed just before the noose tightened and choked off his air.

_Maybe it'd be better t' die now. _

With a gurgling sound in his throat, he gave up and allowed the noose to do its job. Within a minute he felt darkness begin to cocoon him.

oooooo

"The song, Hannibal. You think Murdock was trying to tell us something? Why would he keep singing like that if he wasn't?" Face muttered his questions as softly as he could.

"Fool don't need no reason to act crazy." B. A.'s voice sounded angry but the other two men knew he was as concerned as they were that the pilot had not yet been returned to them.

"The wanderer, never in one place, roaming from town to town." Hannibal mulled over the words to the song. "He heard plans of some kind to divide up the camp and move some or all of us somewhere else."

"The only place the VC ever move anyone's north 'cross the DMZ, Colonel." B. A. shifted position on the wooden platform to face Hannibal.

"If any of us are the ones being moved and Murdock is with us, we have to try to escape. He won't make it in a prison up north," Face whispered.

"That is if he makes the trip without dying on the way." B. A. ignored his previous warning to the Lieutenant and said what they all knew to be true. Murdock had been a favorite object of torture ever since they had been brought to this camp.

His physical condition was already precarious. Hannibal wondered what, besides the fact he was a Captain and a pilot, made him the one most likely to be hauled off to the interrogation hut.

Did the VC suspect him of having more information than the average POW?

And did he?

If he did, maybe they would have an interest in keeping him alive. Maybe that would be his salvation.

At least Hannibal hoped it would. Even if the four of them were separated in the next twenty-four hours.


	7. Chapter 7 Black Dog Releases His Grip

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 7 Black Dog Releases His Grip

He forced his head downward while the noose was still in place around his neck and begged his spirit to give up and let him die.

"Nới lỏng dây thừng! (Loosen the ropes!)" The lead officer screamed the order and removed his foot from Murdock's bound forearms as soon as he heard the gurgle in the pilot's throat. "Ông không được chết! (He must not die!)"

Through his black-dotted vision, Murdock saw the soldier's knife glint in the lamp light. A part of him wanted to live but the stronger urge was to escape more torture by dying now.

_If I die now, I won' be able t' give 'im anythin'. I'm bone weary o' bein' this guy's fav'rite toy. There's a better place t' be than here._

A voice inside his head spoke to him. He recognized it as his long dead baby brother Billy. Billy always talked to him when the worst things were happening. When his chopper's tail rotor was shot all to hell and he was spiraling down into the jungle canopy, Billy was there telling him he would make it and singing along to whatever song Murdock sang to keep himself focused. When an angry drunk Marine came after him in the camp officer's club and had him backed against the wall, Billy cheered him on to victory.

_Billy, ya gotta help me be brave. Tell me 'gain 'bout that place you 'n' Ma're in. Keep tellin' me 'til I'm there with ya. _

The rope squeezed against his vocal cords as he continued to push his arms and head downward. It was becoming impossible to breathe. His shoulders felt like they were about to snap and his chest ached as if he were holding his breath too long underwater.

_So this's what dyin' feels like. _

With a sudden quick slash of the knife, the guard severed the rope between the noose and Murdock's wrists. The pilot's head struck the dirt floor with a dull thump and he took several gasping breaths. Dust settled in his nostrils and he sneezed.

The guard uncinched the ropes from his elbows to his wrists, leaving his hands tied. He felt temporary relief as his arms were released from their unnatural position. Seconds later as the circulation began to flow back into his forearms, he felt intense throbbing pain.

"Đưa ông trở lại với bạn bè của mình. (Bring him back to his friends.)" the official hissed. The two guards hooked their arms under his armpits and lifted him to his feet. As he sagged between them, his head drooping, his gaze glassy, the interrogator tilted Murdock's chin up. Looking into his eyes, the officer smiled. "You will do as we say. At the next camp, you will write."

_I guess they got plans I'm goin' on this li'l walk in the park with 'em. Wonder who else. _

He tried to gather enough strength to walk as they returned him to the hut but his legs would not support him. His feet dragged in the dirt. One of the crudely made VC-issued rubber sandals slipped off his foot. For a moment, he despaired at the loss.

_No matter. They don' let ya wear anythin' on yer feet when yer travelin' 'tween camps. _

A barefoot prisoner was less likely to escape successfully. A moan escaped his lips as he thought about the trip he would be forced to make in the afternoon.

_It's gonna be hell to make that march. Ya hear me, Billy? I don' have what it takes t' make it. Ask God t' take me home now. Please._

His body shuddered involuntarily with his silent pleas for mercy. The guards released their hold on his arms a few feet from the doorway of the hut. He fell face down in the dirt. With a vicious growl, one of the men took the AK-47 from his shoulder and rammed the butt of the rifle into Murdock's side. The action drove a wheezy breath from his lips.

The two guards waited for a moment to see what their prisoner would do. When there was no other reaction, they laughed and strolled off across the yard to their other duties. He knew if one of the guys came to the door to drag him inside right away, the guards might return to punish both of them.

_If I can crawl jus' inside the door, Hann'bal'll get me in the rest o' the way. Woulda been easier if they'da untied my hands 'fore they left me. _

The pilot tried to wriggle across the ground. A whimper escaped when he glanced up through blurry eyes and measured the distance between himself and the doorway.

_I ain' gonna make it. _

He let his muscles go limp and heard the ferocious whine of mosquitoes in his ears. Whatever parts of his body were exposed would be covered with the bloodsucking devils.

_Maybe if there's 'nough o' them, they'll lift me up 'n' carry me outta here. _

He let out a croaking laugh at the mental image and closed his swollen eyelids, resigning himself to sleep on the ground outside. Moments later a faint rustling sound from the doorway of the hut reached his ears. Two large hands gripped him under his arms and dragged him belly down over the remaining distance and through the doorway.

He could have wept with the joy of being reunited with Hannibal, Face and B. A. if his body wasn't too dehydrated to produce tears.

"Lay him down beside me, B. A. I'll watch over him until there's enough light for Hannibal to see how badly he's wounded." That was Face's voice.

As the Sergeant gently lowered his emaciated frame face down onto the rough wood of Face's bed, Murdock let out a soft sigh.

"Are you still with us, buddy?" The Lieutenant's voice was filled with worry.

_Do I gotta answer? I'm so sore 'n' beat tired I could sleep for a week. _

Face and the others needed a response. It was difficult getting his vocal cords to work properly after they had been compressed by the noose. He drew in a small breath and coughed.

_Hope that's 'nough. It's all I can manage right now. _

"Gotta get these ropes offa him." B. A.'s voice was a low rumble as his fingers picked at the knot in the bindings around his wrists.

Murdock knew what would come as soon as the ropes were off. He squeezed his eyes shut as his arms fell to the wooden surface and the blood flow was restored to his numb and blackened hands. The agonizing pain lasted for several minutes.

He felt Face take one arm and B. A. the other and massage them from the elbows down to the wrists. As their fingers located the center of the pain in his freed limbs, he stifled a sob.

Opening his eyes halfway, he noticed Hannibal hovering in the shadows, waiting with a small bowl in his hand. After what seemed like hours, Murdock's arms and hands prickled with restored circulation. He tried moving his fingers but could only get them to cooperate with tiny twitches.

As B. A. left the pilot to stand guard just inside the door of the hut, the Colonel took his place, squatting beside the bed to make eye contact. Murdock searched his face with a questioning gaze.

_Ya gotta tell me, Colonel. Did I get through to ya? _

"We got your message," Hannibal murmured, dipping his fingers in the bowl. The pilot sighed and closed his eyes in relief.

_Wasn' the best o' performances, but least they knew what I meant. _

He felt Face drape the threadbare mosquito netting over his lower body. The netting they had been supplied with was barely big enough for one body. It would not cover both of them as they slept. He started to rasp out a protest when his eyes connected with those of Hannibal's. The Colonel had not left his side and he wondered for a moment what more needed to be said.

"None of us were very hungry today. We saved some of our feast for you." He waited for the pilot to open his mouth before placing a few grains of rationed rice on his tongue. "We passed along the message to the next hut as best as we could, Captain."

Murdock savored the taste of the food before attempting to swallow. The rice caught in his throat and he coughed.

"Help him to sit up, Lieutenant." As the open wounds on his legs and buttocks pressed into the wooden bed, he trembled at the pain. He struggled against the hold Face had on him, wanting only to be allowed to lie back down on either his stomach or his side.

"Drink." Hannibal's order was accompanied by him lifting the bowl to Murdock's lips. After one or two swallows, the Colonel nodded to Face to ease the pilot down onto his side.

"Any idea if it's the whole camp or just some?"

The injured man thought back to the conversation he had overheard. "They're takin' me for sure. Sounded like others, too," he rasped. An angry growl from the doorway told him B. A. had heard.

_The Big Guy cares? Huh. Ain' that somethin'. _

"Leavin' in the afternoon," he added. He didn't want to think about it because it meant he might never see his three friends again. They had to be thinking the same thing from the sudden sense of tension in the atmosphere.

Hannibal nodded and offered a few more grains of rice. Murdock opened his mouth to accept the food and then shook his head after swallowing. "No more. Throat hurts."

"If you're going to be part of the group leaving camp, you have to eat to keep up your strength." The Colonel's solemn expression left no room for refusal. Hannibal and Face exchanged concerned glances before the older man resumed feeding the injured pilot.

Once the rice was gone, Hannibal carefully patted Murdock on the shoulder and whispered, "Get some sleep now. As soon as there's more light, I'll have to take care of your wounds."

The pilot nodded. "Thanks, Colonel." His hoarse whisper was met with another pat before the older man moved back across the hut to his own bed. B. A. left his post by the door and came over to sit at the foot of the platform.

He scowled down at the two best friends as the Lieutenant helped the pilot to lie back down on his stomach. Curling up next to him, Face glanced up at the motionless Sergeant. "I can take care of him now, B. A."

"You get some sleep yourself, Faceman. I got your backs." And the muscular black man crossed his arms to wait until the first rays of light came to wake the camp to a new day and a new struggle for survival.


	8. Chapter 8 White Dog Wounded

Morale

AN: "Bao cao" was the words used to plead for an interpreter so a POW could receive medical attention. The "honey pot" or "bo" was a pot or bowl in the hut used for a toilet. By some accounts, it was emptied only once a day and most of the time not cleaned after emptying.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 8 White Dog Wounded

B. A. awoke with a start. He found himself sitting hunched over at the foot of Face's platform bed. Shaking his head, he flexed his muscles to get the stiffness out of them and looked around to try to figure out what happened to wake him.

The sounds of the jungle were as loud as they always were before early dawn. He didn't hear any new noises. From the next hut to theirs, he heard the harsh rasping breaths of one of the POWs who was close to death.

_Long as I continue to draw breath myself, I'll never forget that sound. If I ever get outta here, I hope I never hear it again. _

The Lieutenant lay curled up under the mosquito netting, a slight snore escaping his mouth with every inhalation. Hannibal's slow even breathing told the muscular Sergeant that he was asleep yet. B. A. didn't recall exactly why he was sitting at the end of the platform unless it was to stand watch . . .

Then he remembered.

_Where the hell's Murdock? _

Murdock had been brought back to them. He knew that for sure. B. A. had personally lifted him onto the Lieutenant's bed and untied his wrists.

_Fool's gettin' way too thin if I can lift him that easy. _

Face and he both massaged feeling back into the pilot's arms. His limbs had to be numb after all those hours of hanging by his wrists in the camp yard and whatever additional torture the interrogator devised for him.

_I pity that VC fool I ever get my bare hands on 'im outside of Nam._

The last B. A. remembered before he dozed off was Murdock trying to softly hum something that was a cross between a lullaby and a beaten dog's whimper.

_Only way the crazy man puts himself to sleep when he's hurtin' so bad. _

As his eyelids grew heavy, he half-heard the pilot whisper "Bao cao" in his sleep and moan. Then everything turned quiet and B. A. knew his team mates were asleep. He dozed off sometime after that. The sight of Murdock and Face sharing the Lieutenant's flimsy mosquito netting was the last thing he saw before his eyelids closed.

But Murdock was no longer lying on his belly asleep beside Face.

_Where the hell is he? _

Then he heard it. A faint rustling sound on the dirt floor.

He peered down below the platform at the ground, expecting to see the usual scurry of rats scampering away. When night fell, hordes of rodents came to nose into anything that might hold a few scraps of food.

The low growl in his throat grew in volume. Lurching to his feet, he grabbed one of the rodents from the convulsing figure it was perched on and wrung its neck before it could bite him. The other three slipped away into the far shadows of the hut.

He tossed the rat's body to the side as he knelt beside the man. The spreading puddle under Murdock's hips told B. A. why the crazy pilot had left the bed. The wounded man's arms and legs twitched violently. The Sergeant touched Murdock's back and felt the muscles contract, then release, only to tighten again. Mercifully, the pilot's eyes were closed. B. A. hoped he wasn't conscious to what was happening to him.

_Aw, shit. I don't know how ta take care a something like this. _

"Hannibal. Ya gotta wake up, Colonel." B. A. hissed his anxious plea before getting to his feet and crossing over to shake the other man's shoulder.

Hannibal's eyes snapped open. For a few seconds he let his senses become reorientated to his surroundings. Silently, he left the sleeping platform and knelt beside Murdock on the ground. Carefully turning the pilot on his side, he shook his head and glanced at the Sergeant.

"It's a seizure." Even in the graying light of dawn, B. A. saw the frustrated concern in the Colonel's expression. "I've seen them before. He has to come out of this himself. Nothing you can do, Sergeant, but wait until it's over."

"Nothing?" The black man's helplessness was evident in the confused gaze he gave the other man.

"Nothing," Hannibal affirmed, squatting, his back supported by the platform behind him.

After several seconds, Murdock's muscles stopped their spasmodic movements and his swollen eyelids fluttered half open. Seeing B. A.'s stunned face, he closed his eyes again and murmured, "Crap. Didn' mean t' wake ya up, Big Guy. Jus' needed t' visit the honey pot." He frowned with his eyes still shut. "Didn' make it, did I."

Hannibal placed his hand on Murdock's forehead. The pilot tried to brush it away but not before the Colonel felt the beginnings of a fever.

"I ain' sick." He struggled to sit up and shuddered when the light scabbing on his leg wounds pulled away from the surrounding skin. Looking at the large wet spot on the ground and the front of his pajama-like pants, he muttered, "Made a mess o' these, didn' I."

The Colonel stood and motioned for B. A. to take one of Murdock's arms while he took the other. Together they lifted him to his feet. Staggering with his wobbly gait between them, they walked him over to and lifted him stomach down onto the platform Hannibal had been sleeping on.

"This's yer bed. Where're _you_ gonna sleep, Hann'bal?" The pilot's voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm not. There's enough light to begin to take care of those open wounds before they get infected and make you even sicker than you are."

"I'm . . ." the pilot protested. He raised his head a couple of inches from the wooden surface to glare at B. A. and the Colonel. The Sergeant growled.

". . . not sick. I know," Hannibal finished. "So just humor me and let me get to work." Murdock laid his head back down with a shuddering groan.

"Anything I can do to help?" The Lieutenant spoke from behind them.

"You and B. A. have to hold him down while I get a closer look at the damage." The Colonel gave him a cold stare. "Glad you could join us, by the way."

Face flinched at the rebuke. He sheepishly took his place at the head of the bed. "Here, buddy. Hold onto my arms." He leaned across the platform and clutched the pilot just below the elbows. The injured man grasped Face's arms and waited for the pain to begin.

"Mind if I hum while ya do this?" Murdock asked, grim humor in his question.

"Hum away, Captain. Just try to keep it down a little so we don't get the VC knocking at our door." The Colonel patted him on the shoulder and moved toward the foot of the platform. As soon as Hannibal touched the first wound with the moistened rag in his hand, Murdock gritted his teeth and began humming.

Seconds later, the Colonel paused in his examination as he recognized the song."'Fly Me To the Moon,' Captain?"

"Be better place 'n this, wouldn' it?" Murdock hissed.

"Anything'd be better than this, fool," B. A. muttered.

The pilot sucked in his breath as Hannibal resumed cleaning the wounds. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he began humming again.

Beginning at the injured man's ankles and working his way up, Hannibal examined each open slash. Murdock dug his fingernails into Face's forearms repeatedly as the Colonel picked dead fire ants, flies, cloth, bamboo splinters and dirt from the wounds. More than one began bleeding again when they had to be reopened for debridement. His pitch wavered as the cloth met raw flesh.

An especially deep cut required more probing than the pilot was able to stand. With a stifled sob, his body went limp and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

B. A. cursed under his breath and released his hold on Murdock's legs. "Damn, Colonel. How's he gonna live through a move somewhere else?"

Hannibal shook his head in response. "Let's hope they move one or or all of us with him."

"You think they will, Colonel?" Face looked up from where he continued to hold onto Murdock's wrists, more loosely now that the injured man was unconscious.

The older man shook his head. "Maybe."

When he was finished with the rest of the open wounds, he moistened some dirt to form mud and stroked it onto the worst of the fire ant bites around the pilot's face. B. A. frowned and Hannibal shrugged. "Mud draws out the poison and makes the swelling go down. A little bit of old-fashioned medicine."

B. A. scowled down at Murdock and shook his head. "Gonna need a lot more than old-fashioned medicine ta keep him alive."

"I know, B. A." Hannibal muttered. "I know."


	9. Chapter 9 White Dog In Need

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 9 White Dog In Need

Hannibal slept intermittently for another hour, slumped in his watch position at the end of the platform. He decided after treating the pilot's wounds not to lie down next to him. Nor did any of them want to move Murdock back to the platform where Face now slept. The man lying belly down on the hard wooden surface needed as sound of a sleep as he could get if he was to be taken from their midst in the next twelve to twenty-four hours.

The first few soft moans partially woke the Colonel.

Still in his own dreamless doze, he managed to stretch out his hand toward the pilot and place it on his head. One of his men had used the same soothing gesture the first time Hannibal had been returned to them after a brutal interrogation. He felt the touch despite his delirium.

The Colonel had long ago stopped believing in guardian angels visiting him unawares. Especially not in Viet Nam.

_Especially not here. _

None of the three men would confess to quieting him in such a way but he knew one of them had done it. Just like he was reluctant to admit his human frailty at the hands of his enemies.

Stroking the greasy brown hair on the back of Murdock's head, Hannibal longed to escape back into his slumber. His small comforting gesture seemed to still the pilot's pain-filled restlessness for the moment at least.

_Go back to sleep, Captain. Don't wake until you absolutely have to. _

Sleep, no matter how light, was necessary for all of them if they were going to be transferred to another camp.

This remote outpost did not have a muddy road leading to it . . . yet. When they were forced to march to this makeshift stockade, they passed along a road being carved through the dense foliage of the jungle.

That was before they left the rough hewn road and stumbled and tripped their way toward this hellhole. It would have been easier if their hands were not bound behind them and they did not have anxious guards prodding them along.

_It's going to be the same way leaving here. Heaven help the men who have to make that trip. _

The reminder of that journey through the jungle made sleep impossible for Hannibal. An intense pain knotted his bowels. It forced him to leave his guard post and stagger to the honey bucket. There was no hiding the explosive sound of a digestive system aggravated by the more grotesque portions of their meager diet.

While he squatted, he had plenty of time to reflect on that first march and think about the one some or all of them would be making in the afternoon. He remembered his surprise at how well the pilot endured the travel to this camp. For someone who was more comfortable with the expanse of sky above them, the younger man seemed unnaturally able to traverse the tangling vines and dense undergrowth.

Hannibal wondered once again how much on-the-ground experience the pilot had. The chronological gaps in the man's military file were big enough to fly a C-5 cargo plane through.

_He didn't learn this kind of endurance in standard basic training. _

Glancing at Murdock, he found the younger man's glassy brown eyes somberly regarding him before a soft quick smile hid his thoughts away again.

"Hey, Colonel. When yer done there, I'm gonna need t' use the facilities." He gingerly rolled on his side and tilted his head to once more look the older man in the eyes. Sighing, he murmured, "What I wouldn' give t' hear a real toilet flush 'gain."

_Wouldn't we all. _

Hannibal nodded and stood, slipping the VC-issued rubber sandals back on his feet and pulling the dark-colored pajama pants back up around his waist. He was thankful for the footwear which he used to protect his skin from the jagged edges of the bo. Glancing at Murdock's feet, he realized the pilot had only one sandal.

_The other one must be somewhere between here and the interrogation hut. _

As the pilot carefully slipped his legs over the side of the platform and struggled into a sitting position, the Colonel frowned. "Do you need help in getting here?"

Another soft smile, then a grimace as the raw wounds on his buttocks made contact with the wooden platform. Murdock closed his eyes before forcing himself to his feet. The edge of the bed scraped the length of the back of his thighs as he let himself down to the dirt floor. A sharp intake of breath accompanied his attempt to straighten and he wobbled for seconds before getting his balance.

"Naw. Gotta make sure I can keep up when they take me on that li'l hike through the woods." The grin he gave Hannibal was meant to reassure but didn't. The Colonel remained where he was.

_God help you if they take you and no one else. You won't make it. _

The pilot slowly limped toward the bo, concentrating on each step. Once there, Murdock warily eyed the pot with its jagged edges. Trying with all of his strength and willpower to raise his limp arms, he managed to hook his thumbs in the waistband of the pajama pants before his partly numb hands dropped to his sides once more.

Cursing under his breath, he gave the Colonel a brief humiliated glance. He stared down at the pot with angry eyes as he mumbled, "Guess I'll need a li'l help after all. That is, if ya still don' min' givin' it."

Hannibal positioned himself behind the pilot and pulled his pants down. Slipping his arms under the younger man's arms and grasping him around the waist, he brought Murdock's back up against his chest. "Bend your knees as much as you can. Ready?"

"Now, Colonel. Ya won' let me fall in, will ya?" The slow Texas drawl barely disguised the embarrassment in his voice.

"I won't let you fall in, Captain."

Murdock took a ragged breath and let it escape before responding. "Okie-dokie. Then I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be."

He bent his knees, sucking in air as several gashes on his legs opened, the coagulated blood tearing away from the wounds. Hannibal held on tightly, looking toward the door instead of down at the man he was assisting.

_No need to make him feel even more humiliated. Damn this war for taking away his dignity in this way!_

As soon as Murdock finished relieving himself, the Colonel helped him stand upright again.

"That's 'nother thing I'll never take for granted 'gain," the pilot grunted as Hannibal released him and pulled his shredded pants back up.

"What's that, Captain?"

"Double ply toilet paper. An entire roll o' it all t' myself."

The older man grinned in spite of himself.

_Keep that sense of humor. As long as you have it, I'll know you're going to make it through. _

"Can you get back to the bed on your own?" Hannibal knew what the answer would be as soon as he asked.

"Think I can manage. Practice makes perfect, ya know."

He hobbled with halting steps to the wooden platform. Once there, he stared at the height of the structure before turning around and leaning up with his back against it.

"Who'm I kiddin', Hann'bal? I fall down anywhere out there on the way t' the other camp 'n' they'll shoot me rather 'n stand me upright 'gain."

His jaw muscles twitched as he thought about it. Seconds later, he gazed fiercely at the Colonel, his mouth set in a hard line. "Well, I ain' gonna give 'em the pleasure 's long 's I can help it."

"I know you won't. You're stronger, tougher, than that. You're a survivor." The older man shuffled toward him, taking his time, letting Murdock decide how much help he wanted to accept.

The searching look the pilot gave him made him realize that somewhere in his background, Murdock had been a survivor already.

_Maybe someday I'll be allowed to see behind that easy-going exterior and find out what made you the man you are today. _

An especially loud rasping breath drifted to their hut from the one next door to them. It was followed by a gurgling rattle. Hannibal and Murdock stared at each other as the sound faded to nothing.

_Someone died. Was it Greenberg, the Marine pilot from the Bronx? Murdock would know. He knows everyone's name around here._

For a few moments Murdock's eyes turned in the direction of the death rattle. His expression pinched with sadness. Then the pilot repeated the Colonel's last words, feverish stubbornness flashing in his gaze. "I'm a survivor."

With everything he could muster, Murdock fisted his hand as much as he was physically able and raised it to touch Hannibal's fisted hand in a gesture of solidarity and strength.

_You will survive. And don't you forget that, Captain. _


	10. Chapter 10 White Dog Memories

Morale

AN: J. L. Hudson's Department Store no longer exists in Detroit, Michigan, on Woodward Avenue. It was the tallest department store in the world at one time (1961), standing 25 stories tall with five basements. It closed in 1983 and was imploded in 1998.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 10 White Dog Memories

After the early morning trip both men had taken across the hut to the bo to relieve themselves, neither Hannibal nor Murdock attempted to sleep. The dying breaths of the man in the hut next in line from them chased away any possibility of that.

After assisting Murdock to find a relatively comfortable position lying on his side, the older man sat at the foot of the platform. His eyes strayed over to where B. A. and Face slept as soundly as the hard bed and their occasional muscle spasms and small groans would allow.

"So, Hann'bal, when we get outta Nam . . . ya know, get home . . . what d'ya think yer gonna wanna do first?" The Captain's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The corners of his mouth twitched from the fresh pain unleashed when Hannibal assisted him onto the wooden surface.

The Colonel gripped the edge of the platform and turned his gaze on the younger man. Both of them had played this game before.

_Hell, what POW hasn't?_

The reminders of things awaiting them beyond the jungles of Nam sometimes helped them not only pass the time but maintained their sanity in the face of starvation, deprivation and almost constant misery and pain. It was one of the whispered conversations POWs indulged themselves with when waiting for the next cadre of guards to show up to drag one of them to interrogation or indoctrination.

Hannibal thought he understood the reason for Murdock's choice of topic.

_If I'm right, he needs me to play along with it. I guess if I were in his condition and knowing what he does about the next few days, I would, too. _

He narrowed his eyes and thought for a few brief seconds. Then he let a smile play across his weary face. "Well, I won't be taking any vacations in the tropics for a while."

Murdock snorted softly at that response. "Huh. Good one, Colonel. Don' think I will either, come t' think o' it."

"If I had my wish, I'd return home right around mid-December in the midst of a snowstorm. By then the city crews would have the lighted Christmas trees, snowmen and snowflakes up on the street lights along Woodward Avenue. I'd go to Hudson's Department Store and look at the Christmas tree of lights. Murdock, the thing's about nine stories tall. Can you imagine that?" He noticed the other man shift his position a little. It was as if he were a little child listening to a favorite story, one he knew by heart but needed an adult to retell for the full magical effect.

_That's right. Think of Christmas, Murdock. Think of celebrating it again back home. If you want it bad enough, maybe it'll come true. _

"Gotta be one helluva 'lectric bill fer somethin' like that. What else, Colonel?" There was no mistaking the yearning for a hometown Christmas in the pilot's suddenly husky voice.

"Well, seventy-two thousand lights make a pretty bright tree. I'd go inside the store, a pretty lady on my arm, and have lunch with her in the mezzanine at the Piccadilly Circus Cafeteria."

"What color hair?"

"I've always been partial to brunettes myself. What about you?"

The pilot replied without hesitation. "Redheads with hazel eyes." He swallowed, his face pinching with either emotion or pain, maybe both.

_Must be a girlfriend back home he's thinking about. No one gets that sort of look on his face without some kind of memory sparking it. _

And then the pained look was gone, replaced with a small smile. "'N' what would you 'n' the li'l lady have t' eat?"

"My lady friend would probably have a Maurice salad. It's like a decked out chef salad. Nobody knows who Maurice was but he made one helluva salad. I'd have a hot open-face meatloaf sandwich, heavy on the mashed potatoes and gravy." He noticed Murdock nod with satisfaction and swallow.

"No rice?"

"_Absolutely_ no rice." The Colonel was gratified with an even wider smile from the pilot.

He considered his next words carefully. "Then we'd take in the twelfth floor toy department. Some of the neatest Christmas displays were up there. One year, there were eight larger than life reindeer soaring above the aisles. The old decorations were smashed to bits after the holidays so there was something new every year."

"Musta been a sight t' see. But why durin' a snowstorm? Sounds cold." A tiny tremor went through Murdock's body but Hannibal couldn't tell if it was from the thought of ice and snow or from pain and fever.

_I'll have to check that before very long. But if he's feverish, I can't do much about it. _

"Oh, come on, Captain. Haven't you ever built snow forts or made the perfect snowball to throw at someone? Besides, the snow seems to make the lights sparkle brighter." He glanced over at Murdock and noticed a small frown. The pilot wasn't looking at him but at the doorway. Hannibal's heart sank inside him.

_No. Not now. Not when he's building up his strength and will to survive again. Not when he's thinking of home. _

Shadows passed by on their way to the next hut. Murdock wrestled with his fear for a few moments before whispering, "Still sounds kinda cold. But I'm all up for tryin' new things. Think they'll let us go home now, see if it's snowin' somewhere?"

"I don't think the current management will let us check out of this dump. Tell you what. When we _do _get home . . . " Hannibal stopped mid-sentence. Quiet footsteps in the dirt and approaching their door silenced him.

Noting Murdock's wild-eyed dread, the Colonel quickly lowered himself into a prone position beside him on the platform.

"It ain' even full daylight yet. They said afternoon. I know they did," the younger man murmured with panic in his tone. "Colonel . . . "

"Shhh." Hannibal shushed him and they both closed their eyes as if asleep.

"Đánh thức anh ta. (Wake him.)" The guard the POWs nicknamed Ferret barked a command from behind two armed men. The Colonel felt an involuntary shudder pass through Murdock's body.

Because he was lying on the outside, Hannibal was first to be grabbed and dragged off the bed. He shook his head, pretending to be groggy from being disturbed out of a deep sleep. Two guards held his arms to either side as two more guards pulled Murdock from the platform. Another VC soldier held an AK-47 on a wide awake Lieutenant and Sergeant where they sat, fists clenched but helpless to do anything, on the other wooden bed.

The Colonel flashed B. A. and Face a warning look before Ferret backhanded him. Hannibal felt his lower lip split and blood trickle into the stubble on his chin."You talk in sleep? Maybe not sleep? Why?"

Murdock's legs shook under him as the two guards gripped him by the arms. Paling, he took in several ragged breaths before pasting a sickly lopsided grin on his face meant to shake the VC guards' confidence. It didn't. It never did. But he continued to try.

"I was waitin' for Santy Claus, that's why. 'N' I _always_ talk in my sleep. Now if I had a nightlight . . ." The pilot smirked, his eyes taking on a crazy defiant glint.

The guard on his right wrenched his arm as far up on his back as it would go. Kicking the back of his knee, the guard on the left dropped Murdock to the ground. Without warning, the action forced the right arm up higher toward his shoulder. A gasp escaped from the Captain's mouth before he was lifted to his feet again, trembling in pain.

"Lớn muốn nhìn thấy Ngài. (The Major wants to see him.) Mang lại cho anh ta. (Bring him.)" Ferret jabbed a finger at the pilot and then leered at B. A. and Face. He pointed at Hannibal. "Và anh ta. (And him.)"

The guards holding Hannibal passed through the door first, followed by the two dragging Murdock between them. Ferret and the last soldier brandished their weapons at the other two captives before backing out the door.

Hannibal could see light just beginning to filter through the canopy of leaves above the stockade. Six new POWs were lined up in the yard awaiting the ranking VC officer's inspection.

_If Trình __is going to take a look at the new guys that just came in, then why are we being brought to him? _

Two POWs from the hut next door carried the naked body of another white man between them. Two VC soldiers directed them at gunpoint outside the stockade where a shallow pit would be the prisoner's final resting place.

"Tạm dừng! (Halt!)" Ferret's sharp command brought the five guards and their two prisoners to a standstill to allow the burial detail to pass.

The dead prisoner sagged between his POW escorts, his skeletal frame splotched with his own excrement, his frozen gaping mouth and lifeless stare the final expression of his last moments.

The Colonel wondered at the timing.

_Wouldn't put it past these bastards to use that as a subtle psychological tool to get what they want from us. _

As they passed in front of Hannibal and his two guards, he recognized the corpse as Cassel, the Air Force Lieutenant originally from the Bronx.

Murdock had identified the dead man as well. The sharp intake of breath the Colonel heard told him as much. A dull thud and a wheezing grunt came from behind Hannibal as the small sign of horrified grief the pilot expressed was met with swift punishment.

"Dirty . . . flea-bitten . . . sons-a-bitches . . . Go t' hell . . . _All o' ya_." Murdock's voice began low and rose into a high-pitched wail as he finished.

The two guards holding Hannibal stopped again and turned with him still between them. The Colonel tried but failed to catch the younger man's anguished gaze. Murdock kicked and flailed at his captors. His lips drew back in a canine snarl and his eyes darted frantically from one man to the other.

Ferret and the three other VC soldiers threw him belly down on the ground. After they managed to tie his wrists behind him, they furiously pummeled him with the stocks of their rifles for at least a full minute. He rolled from stomach to side and curled up in a fetal position, seeming not to feel the blows as howl after howl of wounded animal-like rage erupted from him.

And Hannibal was helpless to comfort him.

A strident voice rang out across the camp yard. "Bạn đang làm gì? Tôi cần anh ta sống. (What are you doing? I need him alive.)"

Just as suddenly the barrage of punishment stopped. Murdock lay, sobbing and ranting unintelligible words, at Trình's feet.

The commanding officer scowled at each of the soldiers. The look Trình gave Ferret made the other man bow his head quickly and shrink from his authority.

"Ông phải rời khỏi cho phía Bắc vào ngày hôm nay. Ông dự kiến. (He must leave for the north today. He is expected.)"

The VC Major nudged Murdock in the leg with his foot and added, "Cho anh ta những người đàn ông chết quần và giày dép. Anh ta chuẩn bị sẵn sàng. (Give him the dead man's pants and footwear. Get him ready.)"

To Hannibal, he said in broken English, "You will prepare your men to travel. Around Phu Bai, the Captain will travel alone."


	11. Chapter 11 White Dog Trapped

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 11 White Dog Trapped

There was not much Hannibal, B. A. and Face had to do to prepare to leave the camp. Among the three of them they managed to put together the things Murdock would need for the journey as well as their own meager items from those the VC doled out over the weeks they had been imprisoned there.

The pilot was not returned to them after his outburst that early morning over Cassel's death. For several minutes after the incident, after Hannibal was taken back to his waiting men, Murdock ranted wildly at the Major and his underlings. A solid flesh against flesh blow that could be heard across the yard ended it.

When Face dared to venture out of the hut he watched the guards twist both of Murdock's arms behind him and shove him toward the pit used as an isolation cell. Someone had removed the pyjama pants shredded by the repeated whippings and placed those of the dead man on him. Murdock also wore Cassel's VC-issued sandals.

For several moments the Captain struggled against their attempts to push him into the hole. He dug his heels into the ground. With one forceful combined effort, they overcame his backward thrust against them. He tottered on the edge and fell with a heavy thud to the bottom.

Face caught his breath and listened for a sign his friend was still conscious. The blonde POW noted the guard they nicknamed Squinteye prodding one of the new prisoners toward the interrogation hut. Major Trình strode with determination ahead of them.

The other newly arrived men had been issued their black pyjamas and were quickly dressing themselves. Only when he heard Murdock's savage "Bastard!" screamed at the officer's retreating back did Face slip inside to report to Hannibal.

For what seemed hours, faint whimpers and an occasional string of snarled curses came from the pit.

As the Lieutenant watched from his observation post just outside the hut, an armed guard ventured close to the edge and leered down at the prisoner.

"Người bạn của ông qua đời trong hổ thẹn. Ông sẽ chết, quá.. (His friend died in disgrace. He will die, too.)" Another guard joined him and together they laughed and pointed down into the hole.

Ferret approached, a wooden bowl in his hand. "Major Trình nói rằng ông là có nước. (Major Trình says he is to have water.)" He dipped his fingers into the vessel and flicked droplets down on the man in the pit.

Ferret nudged the guard closest to him and laughed. "Ông có vẻ khát. (He looks thirsty.)"

Murdock hurled an unintelligible slurred insult at them. Seconds later he laughed. It was a hysterical cackle that soon deteriorated into muffled sobs. Face wiped his eyes with a hand and shuddered at the sound.

Hannibal left the hut and squatted beside the Lieutenant. His eyes took in the conman's anguished expression before his gaze centered on the three guards. "Nothing we can do. They won't torture him to death, not as long as the Major believes he'll gain face over presenting Murdock alive to the VC command up north."

"Why him, Colonel? You outrank him but you've been to see that cocky Major Trình only a handful of times. And B. A. and I've been there even less than you. He's been there almost every other day." Face gripped Hannibal's forearm as Ferret peeled a banana and made a show of tossing the peel to the prisoner.

Throwing it into the encroaching underbrush outside the stockade instead, the guard kicked dirt down on top of Murdock and grinned. Ferret nibbled at the fruit delicately, making an elaborate show of it. He ate within sight of the prisoner below.

"I don't know why he was singled out. I have my suspicions but that's all they are." The Colonel scowled toward the guards, their amused attention totally on the man in the pit.

B. A. joined the two men outside. "Everything's ready, ready as it'll ever be." His dark eyes flickered over the three guards jeering at the pilot. "Don't know how mucha that I'm gonna be able to watch before I go do somethin' about it."

"You'll stay your position, Sergeant." Hannibal cast a sharp glance at the black man. "Even if you managed to break the neck of one of them, you wouldn't get all of them. You'd be the next one in the ropes or down in that pit."

"Shhh. Listen!" Face frowned toward the isolation area as a low rasping song drifted up from the hole in the ground.

_I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas  
Jus' like the ones I use t' know . . ._

The voice quavered. There was a hiccuping breath before the song started again, some of the hoarseness smoothing out as the Captain crooned the lines.

_. . . Where the tree tops glisten  
'N' children listen . . ._

Greenberg, his breathing labored from an asthmatic condition worsened by the moldy thatch of the hut roof, staggered out of the neighboring doorway. His expression was grim as he gave a brief nod to the three men next door. He had been in the burial detail. Cassel was his friend.

_. . . T' hear sleigh bells in the snow . . . _

B. A. snorted in surprise. "Snow, Colonel? Thought the fool was from Texas."

Hannibal raised a hand to hush him.

At the same time, Ferret snarled a warning and leveled his AK-47 at the man in the pit.

There was a high-pitched chortle before Murdock launched into the second stanza of "White Christmas" in a full rich tenor.

"The man lost all his senses?" The Sergeant tensed as the other two guards mimicked Ferret's action.

_I'm dreaming of a__ white __Christmas  
With every__ Christmas card I write . . . _

Squinteye scurried from the interrogation hut toward Ferret. Giving his superior a slight bow, he anxiously reported. "Bạn là cần thiết. (You are needed.)"

For a few seconds the VC interrogator scowled down at Murdock. Turning on his heel, he gestured for the other guards to return to their posts. He walked quickly away without looking back.

"God, that was close." Face ran a hand through his oily hair.

"You're tellin' me, Faceman." B. A. shook his head at the lusty voice coming from the pit.

Hannibal's teeth clenched as he kept his eyes on the row of new prisoners. They dared not glance toward the hole where the song came from but the Colonel noticed a couple of them straighten slightly and make half fists of their hands.

The voice grew wistful and softer now that he did not have a VC audience.

_May your days be merry and bright  
And may all  
Your__ Christmases be__ . . . white. _

There was no mistaking the stifled sounds of weeping as Murdock choked on the last word. And then he fell silent.

oooooo

The POWs scheduled to be transferred to other camps included not only Hannibal, B. A. and Face but also Heller and Wilson, the native Texans from three huts away.

As the five prisoners waited in the same location the six newly arrived POWs stood earlier, they kept their eyes downcast. Each man carried something tucked in their clothing somewhere. A sliver of lye soap, mosquito netting, a threadbare towel. They didn't have much but all of it could be shared among them.

Three muffled screams sounded from the interrogation hut. Ferret and two other guards walked behind the POWs, securely tying their hands behind their backs as two more guards kept their weapons trained on them. Ferret and four other guards would escort them to the next camp.

From the corner of his eye Face saw two VC soldiers reach down and lift Murdock from the isolation pit. The ease with which they lifted the lanky pilot out of the earthen cell indicated how emaciated he had become.

He swayed in place where they put him, the closest prisoner to the interrogation hut. His vacant stare and detached silence worried the Lieutenant. When they drew his arms behind his back to tie his wrists his shoulders slumped and his head drooped forward in something beyond total surrender.

Face caught Hannibal's glance in his peripheral vision. The Colonel's expression was difficult to read. The facial twitches were the only signs Hannibal shared the Lieutenant's worry for Murdock's mental state.

The look on the face of the Sergeant was not so incomprehensible. Face hoped B. A. would restrain himself until the right opportunity, should it come, presented itself.

_When it does, someone's going to die in an extremely unpleasant way. _

Trình and Ferret left the hut and walked with purpose toward the waiting POWs. The Major tilted Murdock's head up to stare him in the eyes. If the pilot was aware of Trình's hand under his chin or his face within inches of his own, he did not show it. His gaze remained distant.

The head officer smiled and turned toward the next man in line. With one swift movement he pivoted and backhanded Murdock across the cheek. The Captain's head snapped to the side and he staggered slightly. There was no other response, not even a flinch.

Trình seemed satisfied.

"Người đàn ông này sẽ không cung cấp cho bạn gặp rắc rối. Tại Phu Bai, bạn sẽ đi theo anh ta đến Hà Nội. (This man will not give you trouble. At Phu Bai you will escort him to Hanoi.)" He stood back and nodded to Ferret to direct his guard detail to begin herding the six men out of the stockade and into the jungle.

The head guard gave Trình a short bow and pushed Murdock toward the entrance to the camp.

Face braved a look at B. A. before he was prodded to follow. The rage he saw in the black man's expression reaffirmed his previous observation.

The Sergeant had murder in his eye for the first VC guard who he could catch sleeping.

_Preferably Ferret. Preferably soon._


	12. Chapter 12 White Dog Overcomes

Morale

AN: This is the last two chapters from Murdock's POV. The guys will be out in the jungle in the next one. Promise.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 12 White Dog Overcomes

"Tạm dừng! (Halt!)"

Why they were stopping, he didn't know until he heard the shuffling feet coming toward them and saw the pale naked body hanging between Greenberg and Denison.

_Lieutenant Cassel. Luke. _

He took in a deep quick breath when he saw who it was. The gaping stare, the protruding rib cage and stick arms and legs nauseated him, made his temper flare white hot inside him.

That and the shit that coated the dead man's lower body. They didn't even have the decency to clean him up or leave him his garments to be buried in.

Cassel had a wife, two kids, twin boys, back home in the States who would never get the opportunity to see his remains buried in honor. But they wouldn't have wanted to see this.

_No one should hafta see this. Hell, no one should hafta die like this either. _

The guard nearest him drove the butt of the AK-47 into his gut. The pain chased away his nausea but filled every empty space inside him with more anger than he could contain. He felt something in his brain snap as the indignity of the whole scene struck him full force.

All it took was that jab and the grin the guard got on his face after doing it to unloose his tongue to express everything he had stockpiled inside himself.

"Dirty . . . flea-bitten . . . sons-a-bitches . . . Go t' hell . . . _All o' ya_." He knew they didn't understand his words but there was no misinterpreting his tone.

A part of himself detached and watched as the savage black dog inside him was unleashed. With unreasoning viciousness he struck and kicked at the guards even as they subdued him.

Ferret and the three guards tossed him onto the ground with surprising ease despite his impassioned struggles. They twisted his wrists behind his back. As his hands were tied, his face ground into the dirt, he let every part of him that could feel anything but rage find refuge in the deepest area of his mind.

The blows from the rifle stocks served only to fuel the insane fury that spilled from his mouth as howls. To protect himself, he instinctively drew his legs up toward his belly and curled his head and upper body to almost meet his knees.

_Am I gonna die now? _

Murdock couldn't stop the random thought from echoing inside his brain. His detached emotions flooded back, forcing the black dog onto its leash and leaving the white dog to receive the punishment for its actions.

Pain along his back and ribs, a vicious blow to his right kneecap and another to his jaw, reduced the pilot's protests to sobs and meaningless rants.

"Sons o' bitches . . . rotten . . . bloodthirsty . . . leeches . . . "

The shower of blows stopped just as suddenly as they began and the rational part of his mind observed with cool detachment the broken prisoner he had become, raving at Trình's feet.

It was that part of his identity that listened as the VC Major spoke.

"Ông phải rời khỏi cho phía Bắc vào ngày hôm nay. Ông dự kiến. (He must leave for the north today. He is expected.)"

_Which means they won' let me die, 'least not now. _

His wounded mind was torn. His innate will to live struggled with the desire to have all of the torture end.

_How far can they be pushed 'fore they kill me anyway? _

He felt the Major's foot touch his calf. Bile rose in his throat as the VC officer instructed his men to dress him in Cassel's garments.

Every fiber of his being objected to that and his ranting reached a feverish pitch. He almost didn't hear the words the Major spoke to Hannibal before ordering the guards to return him to their communal hut.

"Around Phu Bai, the Captain will travel alone."

_Phu Bai. What do I know of Phu Bai? How far is that from here? _

His unintelligible raving amused Major Trình and the soldiers around him.

_Let 'em laugh. S'long as I don' tell 'em what I really think o' 'em in their own language. _

He detected a small movement to his left. Glancing that way through swollen eyelids, he saw two of the new prisoners shift positions ever so slightly.

_Bad for them if they do that too much. _

A guard on either side lifted him to his feet. He wobbled as the Major cuffed him across the face with an open palm to stop his yelling. He gasped with the force of the blow.

With a head gesture, Trình directed the guards to the hut where Cassel, Greenberg and Denison were quartered.

_Well, at least Greenberg and Denison anyway. _

Once inside the empty hut, two of the guards lifted him onto the platform and held him down on his back and bound arms while a third picked up the filth-encrusted black pajama pants Cassel had so recently worn. He felt his stomach churn in repulsion.

He tried to wriggle out of the guards' grasp as his own black pants were torn from his body. Getting in a lucky kick to the guard's face, he wasn't prepared for the furious backlash. Wiping blood from his mouth, the guard drove the butt of his rifle into the pilot's groin. He almost passed out.

Temporarily incapacitated, he could do nothing as the guard forced his legs into the pants and pushed the sandals onto his feet. Lifting him upright once again, the guards supported his sagging weight as the third man pulled the pants up around his waist and tied them in place.

They untied his hands before twisting his arms behind him and pushing him out of the hut. From the corner of his eye he saw Face leave their own quarters and glance his way.

_Where to now? _

He hoped they would bring him back to his team mates but the path they took led him past the line of new prisoners and toward the isolation pit.

The pit was home to rats, snakes and anything else that fell into its depths. It was barely large enough to allow a prisoner to squat with his back propped against the wall and his legs bent, knees against the opposite wall. Murdock knew from first hand experience how hot and stale the air could get.

_But 'least I can look up 'n' see a tiny patch o' sky from there. _

The new prisoners cast furtive curious glances his way as the guards shoved him forward. Even though his body ached from the beating he received, they should not see submission and defeat from any man in this camp.

He knew he would not win the battle to stay out of the hole but the new guys needed to see strength and resistance, needed to know they could keep some of their dignity even when their captors tried to break them in every way possible.

Digging his heels into the ground, he pushed backwards against the guards when they came to the brink of the pit. They shoved him especially hard and made him lose his balance.

He fell on his hands and knees and writhed to stand upright in the narrow hole as three rats scurried out of his way.

The guard Squinteye strode out of sight. Moments later, Murdock heard the shuffling sound of at least one prisoner moving off in the direction of the interrogation hut. He knew Squinteye and Major Trình accompanied him and could not resist hurling one more screamed "Bastard!" toward the retreating head officer.

As the heat of the noon hour settled over the camp, sweat drenched his clothing and made the open wounds on his legs sting. He could hardly gather enough saliva to swallow properly. Involuntary whimpers came from his mouth as his body dehydrated. With each moment of self pity, he forced himself to summon the strength to growl at his captors even though he could no longer see them.

He knew they were close but it wasn't until a shadow fell across the pit that he looked up and saw one of them. Hearing the guard's words silenced him and brought back the haunting thoughts of his own death. He closed his eyes in resignation.

"Người bạn của ông qua đời trong hổ thẹn. Ông sẽ chết, quá.. (His friend died in disgrace. He will die, too.)"

_It's true. Sooner 'r later I'm gonna outlive my usefulness t' them 'n' I'll die. _

Droplets of water fell on and around him as if to taunt him.

_Can' be rain. Be a downpour if it was. _

He scowled up to the sky and saw Ferret hovering over the hole with a wooden bowl in his hand and water dripping from his fingertips. "Major Trình nói rằng ông là có nước. (Major Trình says he is to have water.)"

Murdock tried to run his tongue over his lips as he longed for the liquid the head guard was holding.

He saw the glint in Ferret's eyes as he laughed with the other guard. "Ông có vẻ khát. (He looks thirsty.)"

_Maybe if they think I'm crazy, they'll leave me alone. _

He thought for a moment and then grinned up at them, his words slurred. "Yer ugly mother let me screw 'er fer a candy bar. She's cheap, _real_ cheap." He let a maniacal laugh explode from within. At the sound of it, he wondered how much of what he was about to do would be an act if he was left in the pit much longer without food or drink.

He raised his hands to his face as voices in his head told him things he didn't want to think about.

_You'll be on yer own north o' Phu Bai. No B. A., no Face, no Hann'bal. Jus' you 'n' the guards. They'll teach ya some respect then. _

His attempt at courage dwindled into tearless sobs hidden behind his hands. Dirt rained down on top of him as he wept.

One of the guards moved and the prisoner squinted up into the mocking faces of his captors. He was in time to see the very last of Ferret's elaborate show of eating the banana.

_Not gonna give 'em the pleasure o' seein' me beg. _

He had to think of a diversion. One thing was sure to focus his mind and drive the guards crazy while he did it.

He chose "White Christmas," not because he had any experience with snow but to let the Colonel know he was going to be alright no matter what happened. His voice was gravelly from thirst as he started and after the first lines, he almost gave in to his emotions but he managed to get through the first verse.

He hoped Hannibal and anyone else listening thought about home and drew strength from it like he was.

Ferret pointed his weapon at him as he started to sing the second stanza. Murdock's eyes took on a crazed glint and he laughed gleefully at the guard's show of temper.

_Gramma always said ya can kill the body but ya can' kill the spirit. Jus' try it, Ferret. I'll die if jus' t' make the Major 'n' you lose face 'n front o' yer superiors. _

The other guards brandished their rifles at the prisoner.

He was about to sing the very last lines when Squinteye interrupted with the Major's summons. As Ferret cast one more threatening glare into the pit and all three guards disappeared from sight, Murdock sang the last two lines.

_Sure hope nex' Christmas finds us all home, Colonel. Maybe then ya can show me what ya meant by a white Christmas. _

As he thought of the girl he left behind and of his grandparents waiting for him, Murdock buried his emotions behind his hands again. Then he fell into a brooding silence.

_If they think they've broken me, I might get a chance t' escape. 'N' t' keep 'em thinkin' that, I need t' put my mind somewhere else. _

When they lifted him from the pit and tied his hands behind him for the jungle trek, his body was there but in his mind he was seeing the Murdock farmstead near Sour Lake, Texas. As he was led on shaky legs through the entrance to the camp, in his mind he rode his horse along the farmstead trails, smelling pine, horse lather and saddle leather.

Nothing, not the muffled screams of a prisoner being interrogated, Trình's vehement backhand across his face or the worst the jungle had to offer, would bring him back to this hellhole until he was ready to be brought back again.


	13. Chapter 13 Black Dog On the Path

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 13 Black Dog On the Path

Hannibal kept his head bowed as he shuffled along the path. Numerous vines and uneven ground made for a treacherous walk. All of the POWs traveled with their hands tied behind their backs, making balance precarious. For the time being, he ignored the swelling, cuts and bruises that came from being forced to march barefoot at a steady pace through the jungle.

A prisoner who lost his balance and fell was treated to some brutal punishment until he somehow managed to right himself again. Wilson, the Navy Captain and Amarillo, Texas, native son, discovered that the hard way about an hour away from the camp.

Wilson suffered from the amoebic dysentery that plagued so many POWs. Doubling over with severe abdominal pain, he stumbled over a root and fell. As the guard screamed threats and kicked him, he tried to curl himself into a tight ball and lost control of his bowels instead. The watery bloody mucus seeped through the black pants and onto the path.

The entire procession halted. Except for Murdock, they were all loosely linked together with a long rope. When one of the five stopped, the others were forced to also.

Ferret gripped Murdock by the arm and pushed him ahead of him as he came back to see what was going on. The pilot limped on his right leg. Hannibal's eyes fell on the knee, badly bruised all the way around from the rifle butt blows and swollen to double its normal size. The older man flinched.

_I don't know how he's walking as well as he is on that. And it'll make any escape difficult if not impossible for him. _

The Colonel caught a glimpse of Murdock's face before it was hidden from view behind a guard who came to force Wilson to his feet. What he saw chilled him inside.

_That is not the Captain I know. _

The pilot's expression was a frozen mask of unresponsiveness. His downcast brown eyes stared dully at the blood seeping through the toes of his own bare feet as if it were someone else's soles cut and bleeding.

Ferret shoved him toward the man on the ground and ordered, "Tell him stand up."

Without any attempt to resist or break his fall, Murdock collapsed in the path beside the man. He went limp, his eyes staring fixedly ahead.

The Colonel held his breath, knowing Trình's orders but sensing the desire in Ferret to torment his special prisoner until he received some acknowledgment of his dominance and superiority over him.

_The Captain I used to know would show some sign of rebellion. _

The pilot gave no signal he heard the lead officer's command. Wilson squinted at him in surprise and frowned. He squirmed to a kneeling position, still gazing at the motionless Captain. Several emotions flickered across Wilson's face in quick succession: empathy, helplessness, horror, fear.

As two guards tensed and waited for Ferret's orders, Hannibal squelched the impulse to shield the two men from punishment with his own body.

_It'd do no good and quite possibly get at least Wilson killed, if not some of the rest of us as well. _

At a nod from the lead officer, the soldiers wrenched Wilson to his feet before doing the same with the pilot. Ferret cuffed Murdock hard alongside his ear and received no response.

Hannibal couldn't help but notice a malicious sneer curl the head guard's lips before he prodded the pilot forward again. He seethed with powerless anger at the deterioration he was witnessing in the prisoner's highly intelligent mind and easy-going spirit.

Every once in a while when he thought the guard behind him would not notice, the Colonel peered ahead at Ferret and Murdock.

The VC officer had taken a special interest in the pilot's journey. He spent so much time at the head of the procession propelling Murdock on along the path, it was almost as if the two men were on their own separate pilgrimage to Phu Bai.

The head guard delighted in every misstep the POW took that splayed him prone on the ground. It gave him opportunity to ram his AK-47 into his captive's ribs, spine or face. The force with which the blows were delivered should have caused either a vocal or physical reaction. Instead, the jabs struck a body that seemed more like a bag filled with sawdust than one of flesh and blood.

Each time after Ferret stopped his attack, the pilot slowly staggered to his feet unassisted. When he took his next step along the path, the Colonel let out a silent breath of relief.

_One thing is for certain. Ferret will deliver his prisoner to Hanoi but he never promised in what condition Murdock will arrive. Evil bastard has had it out for him ever since we got to that camp. _

The first rest stop was in a very small clearing. Each of the prisoners were forced to sit down while their guards tied them securely to trees. Ferret and another guard stood watch over the men while one soldier gathered kindling, another got water from a nearby stream and the third scavenged for anything that could supplement the rice they would all eat.

Hannibal let his gaze roam around the clearing, discreetly checking on the condition of each of the other five POWs. Wilson seemed in the worst physical shape of all of them. The Texan shook violently from chills even though the afternoon heat was causing the rest to sweat. Even so, he met the Colonel's probing look with a defiant set to his mouth and a small nod.

_A Texan through and through. He might last through this trip. If there's opportunity to escape, he seems determined enough to be able to keep up with us. But then there's Murdock. What about him? _

Murdock had been far too quiet, far too submissive, for the first part of their journey north to Phu Bai. When their guards turned toward the cooking fire just started behind them, Hannibal exchanged worried glances with Face and then looked at the pilot out of the corner of his eye.

The Captain's shoulders and head slumped over his chest. There seemed to be no comprehending light in the listless gaze.

B. A. was also casting anxious glances at the pilot. When Ferret kicked Murdock's right knee with enough force to move the entire leg over several inches, the Sergeant's eyes flashed with impotent rage. A low growl formed in his throat and the guard nearest him took one step back.

Hannibal shot him a warning look and the sound died as quickly as it had started.

_Not now. Soon, I hope, before we all get too weak to get away. _

When the rice was ready, only two prisoners were untied at one time to eat. B. A. and Wilson were first, followed by Face and Heller. When Murdock and Hannibal were finally loosed from their bonds and the large leaves holding the rice and scavenged lizard meat were placed in their laps, the Colonel paused for a second to see the pilot's response.

Even Ferret seemed somewhat worried when the lanky prisoner's arms remained at his sides and his unfocused eyes stared vacantly at the lukewarm maggot-ridden food before him. The Colonel cautiously dipped his hand into his own rice and brought several grains to his mouth. He was hungry but his heart was not in it and he paused between mouthfuls.

With barely concealed alarm, the lead officer pointed his weapon at Hannibal and hissed, "You will order him to eat or you will feed him. He must eat."

The Colonel let his icy blue eyes skewer the soldier before he allowed one of the VC to help him to his feet. As he went, he commented with more sarcasm than he felt, "Well, you know what they say about leading a horse to water."

_You can't give up, son. You have to keep fighting. Remember my promise to show you a white Christmas. _

He grunted as Ferret pushed him hard onto his knees in front of the other man.

"As your commanding officer, I'm ordering you to eat, Captain."

No response, not even a flicker of recognition in the clouded brown eyes.

_Come on, Murdock. Fight. You said you were a survivor back at the camp. I'm ordering you to survive. _

Ferret shifted restlessly behind him and jammed the AK-47 into Hannibal's neck. "Make him eat."

The Colonel picked up the leaf with its half cup of rice, maggots and cooked lizard on it and scooped a few grains between his fingers. Taking a breath, he brought the food up to the pilot's mouth. Pressing the rice between Murdock's lips, he waited with uncertainty for any sign the Captain knew the food was there.

The older man wanted to shout with relief when he saw Murdock's tongue tentatively gather the grains into his mouth and chew and swallow.

_But there's still no eye contact. Where are you right now, Captain? _

This close to the pilot, Hannibal got an eerie feeling that he was attempting to provide nourishment to a shell of what Murdock once was. Wherever the pilot's soul and spirit were, whether deep in the recesses of his mind or somewhere in time or space, the Colonel did not know.

He continued to feed the Captain, the worm-ridden rice and meat disappearing at a painstakingly slow pace. As he gave Murdock the last scraps of food, he thought he caught a penetrating brief flicker from the pilot's eyes before he once again stared blankly down into his lap. Hannibal almost missed it.

_But did I really see it or was it my imagination? _

As he devoured his own portion of rice, the Colonel watched as Ferret gripped Murdock by the arms and lifted him to his feet. The head officer gripped the rope to bind the pilot's wrists and then seemed to think better of it.

One of the guards doused the fire while another tied Hannibal's hands securely behind him once more and secured him to the rope leading from one POW to the other.

_He thinks Murdock's too far gone to try anything. I hope what I saw was real and not just wishful thinking._

And then they were on the trail again, Ferret quickening the pace as if wanting very much to relieve himself of the responsibility before his special charge died on the way to Phu Bai.


	14. Chapter 14 White Dogs Stop to Rest

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 14 White Dogs Stop to Rest

Wilson swayed and shivered with the fever that wracked his body. Over the last two miles of terrain, he had vomited up most of the contents of his stomach. He hunched over, his abdominal muscles cramping. Behind him, Heller hoarsely whispered, "Remember the Alamo!" in a fervent attempt to keep him from collapsing. He couldn't think of anything else to say and it was all he dared.

The single file line had stopped again. Ahead of the two native Texans, Face sprawled on the path as a pair of VC soldiers hurled angry commands and kicked him. His breath wheezed in and out. Somehow he managed to wriggle into a kneeling position but the guards continued to punish him. Blood dripped onto the path from his nose.

Ferret approached, prodding Murdock ahead of him with the barrel of his rifle and snarling his displeasure at another delay.

"Đủ! Có được anh ta trên đôi chân của mình! (Enough! Get him on his feet!)" The officer snapped his command at the two men.

The pilot stood within two feet of the Lieutenant as they lifted him up. Face's cheek was swollen and darkening with a bruise. A stream of blood flowed freely from his nose to his chin. The Lieutenant looked into his friend's eyes and saw nothing behind the vacant stare. Rather than see the emptiness, he examined the ground at his feet instead.

Ferret scrutinized Murdock's expression for any sign of recognition or anger. The Captain's head remained bowed, his brown eyes unusually glassy and distant.

Finding no reaction to his friend's injuries, Ferret grunted his disdain and turned Murdock to face the front of the line again. He gave him a nudge with his rifle to start him walking again.

After two paces the lead officer paused, then looked beyond the two soldiers and the Lieutenant to Heller and Wilson. Murdock continued to take slow limping steps past Face. The VC officer's black eyes glinted with malice.

"Người đàn ông là quá ốm để đi du lịch. Ông làm chậm chúng tôi. (That man is too sick to travel. He slows us down.)" He pointed a finger directly at Wilson.

The Navy Captain's teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering. His face paled and his eyes widened. He began to take in deep shuddering breaths as Ferret removed a knife from a sheath on his belt and stepped toward him.

"Họ sẽ biết chúng tôi không có lựa chọn. (They will know we had no choice.)"

Murdock quickened his pace slightly. The foliage rustled on either side of him attracting the attention of the entire group. Ferret pivoted in his tracks as he realized how far ahead the pilot had already gone. Furious, he resheathed his knife and brought his rifle up to his shoulder.

"Dừng! Ngừng hoặc tôi sẽ bắn bạn! (Stop! Stop or I will shoot you!)" The VC officer growled the command but the Captain continued to hobble down the path.

Hannibal held his breath as B. A. swore softly to himself. The other three POWs froze in place. None of them could prevent the pilot's suicidal flight without risking their own lives.

Just as Ferret aimed the rifle and yelled one more warning, this time in broken English, Murdock stumbled and crashed to the ground.

The lead officer slung his rifle over his shoulder and hurried toward the motionless Captain.

Like every time before when he tripped over a vine or lost his balance, Murdock lay perfectly still, staring fixedly straight ahead. The leader of the group could not be certain if the Captain was attempting an escape or, once prodded into motion, kept moving without being aware he was doing it.

Ferret motioned for help from one of the soldiers behind him. After lifting Murdock to his feet, the head soldier looped a loose rope collar around the pilot's neck and kept the other end of the leash in his hand.

Forgetting what he had intended to do with Wilson, Ferret pushed the Captain ahead of him down the path. He would not make another mistake like that again. His prisoner could not be trusted to remain untethered or unguarded.

oooooo

The five guards and six prisoners stopped in the early evening in a small mountain village. The clanging of a gong announced their arrival.

Hannibal scrutinized their surroundings, wondering if their captors would leave them outside during the night tied to trees or allow them the shelter a hut would provide. For Wilson's sake . . . hell, for all of their sakes . . . he hoped they would choose the latter.

Within seconds the POWs found themselves being led through a kind of gauntlet of onlookers. Many were simply curious about the foreigners' appearance and stared in childlike wonder.

_We're probably the first Americans they've seen. _

Some reached out to touch them only to have their hands pushed away by the guards as they passed. Others spat on them. A couple of older men prodded them with bamboo clubs until the guards stepped between them and the POWs.

One small girl peered up at Wilson's gaunt face, her mouth agape. He chanced a wink and smile and the tiny child giggled and hid the bottom half of her face behind her hands. Noticing the interaction, a guard shoved him forward particularly hard. He fell to his knees only to be picked up under both arms and dragged between two soldiers to a communal clearing among the village buildings.

Ferret tugged at Murdock's leash and led him up steps into a stilted hut. The four guards forced the remaining five POWs to sit on the ground in a row with their eyes averted.

Several minutes later Hannibal raised his gaze toward the thatch-roofed hut as an elderly Vietnamese villager preceded Ferret and Murdock down the steps. He motioned to two small shelters near the end of the row of buildings. His countenance beamed with obvious eagerness to please the Viet Cong lead officer.

After bowing his head to the honorable village elder, Ferret cast an appraising look at his prisoners.

Pointing in turn to Hannibal and Wilson, he gave his men commands. "Là một trong và là một trong những sẽ có trong túp lều tương tự như là đội trưởng. (That one and that one will be in the same hut as the Captain.)"

The Colonel silently breathed his relief at that. Face, B. A. and Heller would be all right together in the other hut. Between the two of them, Heller and Face might be able to prevent any violent outbursts from the Sergeant.

Being placed with Wilson allowed him to assess the man's condition better. Having Murdock in the same hut gave him time to determine how fragile the pilot's mental state actually was. He reflected upon the flicker of recognition he thought Murdock gave him after feeding him the rice and roasted lizard meat.

_Was I imagining it? _

He shifted his gaze toward the Captain. Nothing had changed in the man's hollow eyes. His expression was still detached and devoid of all emotion. His manner was still that of hauntingly silent submission.

A soft shuffling sound in the dirt drew Hannibal's attention. He watched out of the corner of his eye. The girl who found Wilson so amusing now tiptoed toward him, bearing a wooden bowl. Water sloshed into the dirt at her feet even though she was making attempts to be careful not to spill any.

She reached the Navy Captain and was holding the bowl to his lips when Ferret noticed her and what she was about to do.

Jerking the rope tight around Murdock's neck as he moved, the officer strode four steps toward her and slapped the bowl out of her hands. She yelped in pain and looked up at him in wide-eyed surprise. The back of one of her hands bore a reddening mark and she clutched at it. Moments later, tears trickled down her cheeks and she scurried to pick up the bowl.

"Không có nước cho anh ta. Bạn hiểu? (No water for him. You understand?)" Ferret's anger-contorted expression frightened the little girl. She ran toward a nearby hut and disappeared inside.

Hannibal caught Wilson's frown. The Texan was not looking at the girl's retreat or at the head guard but at Murdock. Then he licked his lips and let his confused gaze drop back to the ground.

_He noticed something, some reaction. _

The Colonel stole a glance up at Murdock. For a second he thought he saw a glimmer of anger in the pilot's eyes. And then it was gone again.

"Đưa họ đến giường của họ cho ban đêm. (Take them to their beds for the night.)" Ferret snapped, handing the homemade rope leash to another guard.

The head officer walked toward the village elder as Hannibal and Wilson were forced to their feet to be led with Murdock to their quarters for the evening. Face, B. A. and Heller were likewise shoved toward the other hut.

The Colonel noted Wilson's violent shivers and Murdock's painful limp. Both men were in a world of hurt.

_And should we find opportunity to escape, will they make it? _


	15. Chapter 15 White Dog Whimpers

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 15 White Dog Whimpers

They ate their food in silence. The meal, composed of manioc and rice, served with bitter tea and a piquant sauce called nước cham, was like a feast compared to the food of the camp or the trail.

Hannibal hand-fed Murdock, each bit of food slowly chewed and swallowed with no change of expression. With every swallow, the older man felt a piercing stab in his own heart.

_It's not right that this war's robbed such a carefree spirit of everything that makes him who he is. _

That had been at least an hour ago. The Colonel winced as he eased himself into a sitting position on the communal bed. The iron cuff around his ankle bit as deep as the bone. Each of the three men wore one.

The occasional visits the guards made them take to the binjo ditch yards from the door to relieve themselves caused the metal band to scrape flesh. He knew not to move around too much and make the restrictive tether chafe the skin any more than that.

Open wounds easily became infected on cross country marches. Which reminded him of Murdock's injuries on the backs of his legs. He couldn't check them before but maybe now he could.

_If this was Face and not Murdock, I'd be hearing about it. I wouldn't have to find out on my own if the wounds were infected. _

He eyed the chain that linked his cuff to one of the bed supports and turned his attention to Wilson who lay beside Murdock on the platform bed.

"How're you doing, son?" He accompanied the hoarse words with a hand on the other man's forehead.

_The fever's come down some. That's good. At least he isn't shivering with the chills. _

Wilson sniffed and gave the Colonel a cocky half-smile. "Aw, ya oughtta know by now, it's hard t' keep a Texan down fer the count. If only I could keep my food down 'n' get ridda the shits, I'd be ready t' hike ten mile with a full pack on . . . sir." At the last moment, Wilson added the word, remembering Hannibal was the ranking officer in the group. He shifted position and worriedly glanced at the pilot lying curled up beside him.

Hannibal's gaze strayed to Murdock at the same time. His eyes were closed but the Colonel sensed the man was not asleep. Despite the swollen side of his face where one guard struck him with his rifle butt, his expression was peaceful.

_What I had to do to make sure that knee will endure tomorrow's hike . . . he should have been screaming with the pain . . . and we'll have to do the same thing off and on through the night. I can't believe it isn't throbbing right now. _

As soon as the guards left them alone for the evening, Hannibal lifted Murdock into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Studying the younger man's impassive face, he felt the knee cap and the swollen area.

Speaking to both Wilson and Murdock, he muttered, "There doesn't seem to be any broken bones. A miracle, considering how many times the bastards brought their rifle butts down on it back in the camp."

Wilson shook his head, remembering the brutality of the punishment. "Li'l cockroaches know where t' stick it to ya, don' they?"

Hannibal nodded in agreement and looked directly into the clouded brown eyes. "Captain, I'm going to have to flex and extend your knee joint several times tonight or you won't make it through tomorrow."

_I don't know if you can hear me anymore but I have to do what I have to do . . . for your own good. _

No longer surprised when he got no response, he knelt in front of the injured man. With great care he placed one hand on top of the pilot's thigh to keep it from moving. He cupped Murdock's calf in his other hand and gently raised and lowered the leg.

_That has to be causing him a lot of pain. _

Wilson dangled his own legs over the edge of the platform. Sitting on the other side of the Captain, he tried to keep up a quiet conversation that would pass the time. Hannibal was glad. Murdock was making no sound, not even a grunt of discomfort.

"That girl that tried t' give me that water . . . sure was a cute li'l button, wasn' she? Reminds me o' my daughter Sophia back home. I ever tell ya 'bout 'er, H. M.?" The Colonel's eyes met Wilson's. He gave the Navy pilot a grim smile before he returned his concentration to what he was doing.

_Go ahead. Talk to him. Maybe you can get him to do more than stare straight ahead. _

"Yeah, my Sophia. She gets the cutest dimples in both cheeks ever' time she smiles. She gets 'er blond curls from 'er Momma. 'N' all o' 'er other good looks come from me." Wilson smirked. He swiped a hand through his oily mop of black hair and positioned his body like he was Raquel Welch striking a pose. "O' course."

A low chuckle escaped from Hannibal's lips.

_It's no wonder Wilson and Murdock struck it off so quickly. They both have . . . had . . . the same sense of humor. _

He peered up into Murdock's face and thought he saw a flicker at the corners of his mouth.

The Colonel caught his breath and cautiously whispered, "Keep going, Captain Wilson. How old is she?"

"Four years ol'. Knew 'er alphabet 'fore she was three. Prob'ly readin' Dickens by now. My Mary's a good mother. A real good teacher." The Navy pilot's eyes grew wistful with memories. "I used t' watch 'em from the bedroom door after I gave Sophia 'er goodnight hug 'n' kiss. Mary'd be readin' _Goodnight Moon _or _Green Eggs and Ham _'n' my sweetie'd be fightin' t' keep those brown eyes open . . ." Wilson swallowed hard and covered his face with one skeletal hand. "God, I miss 'er. Miss both o' 'em. The Captain here said he'd visit 'em if . . . well, you know."

_I wish I didn't, but yeah, I know. I have nobody back home that anybody needs to tell, but guys like Wilson . . . _

There was no point in having the Navy Captain suffer with his memories and longing in exchange for limited responses from his fellow Texan. Hannibal wasn't cruel.

He patted Wilson on the leg. "You'll get home. We _all_ will. You'll see your Mary and Sophia again."

Standing up, Hannibal eased Murdock onto his belly on the platform for an examination of the leg wounds.

_It'd be easier if I could have him stand and let me take down his pants for this but I don't know if he'd collapse. _

Carefully pulling the pants down to Murdock's ankles, Hannibal wasted no time. Five of the slashes near the buttocks and a few on both thighs oozed pus and showed angry red outlines.

The guards had allowed a villager to leave a small pot of water for the three men to drink. Hannibal would have to use it sparingly. Tearing a small piece of cloth from the bottom of his own shirt, he wet it down and cleansed every one of the wounds. He hoped over the following days he would have opportunity to tend to them again.

The Colonel frowned at the filth-encrusted pyjama bottoms the injured man wore. Giving Wilson a penetrating gaze, Hannibal removed the pants the rest of the way from Murdock's body. The Navy man cocked an eyebrow, curious about what the older man was doing. Untying the top of his own pants, Hannibal slipped them off quickly and slid Cassel's pants on himself.

"Help me here, Captain? Before we have a visit from our not-so-friendly escorts?" Between the two of them, Wilson and the Colonel managed to slide Hannibal's camp-issued pants onto Murdock.

"Might give 'im a fightin' chance at those infected wounds healin'. Yer a good man, Colonel Smith," Wilson muttered as they finished. The older man gently positioned the pilot on his side and looked down at him. His own impotence to help the man any further than what he had gnawed at him.

_Not much else I can do for him. _

Murdock closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, something that caused both men to look at each other.

The Colonel frowned.

_A few signs of awareness here and there but nothing lasting. At this rate the boys in Hanoi aren't going to get anything but blank stares from Murdock. I wonder if Major Trình and Ferret know that. _

Hannibal gave Wilson a tight-lipped smile. "You get your sleep, too. It looks like the guards aren't going to disturb our rest tonight."

The Navy Captain nodded and curled up next to Murdock, his back against the pilot's chest. The Colonel squeezed in next to the two men and dozed lightly.

oooooo

In the middle of the night, Hannibal woke to the sound of men laughing. A series of soft strangled cries made him bolt upright in bed. The screams died off and normal nighttime jungle sounds took over.

Sitting up and glancing at Murdock, the Colonel found him breathing hard, his eyes wide and terrified. Propped on one arm, staring transfixed at the doorway, he looked like he was on the verge of screaming out his fear.

Wilson was still deep in sleep although Hannibal didn't know how he could be. Just to be sure the fever hadn't returned, the Colonel held a hand to the Captain's forehead and startled him awake.

"It's alright. Go back to sleep, son. I'm going to work with Captain Murdock's knee and limber it up." The older man waited until Wilson drifted into his dreams again before walked around to the other side of the platform and pulled the injured man up to sit at the edge.

Some of what he said to Wilson was a lie. He wanted to prevent Murdock from calling out. Not certain if the pilot's almost catatonic state was for a purpose or if it was faked, Hannibal knew he needed to keep the guards and especially Ferret from hearing or seeing anything.

Murdock's detachment and silence kept Ferret worried. A worried guard would make a mistake sometime.

The Colonel moved quickly to muffle the sudden whimpers coming from the pilot. Cupping the back of Murdock's head in his palm, burying the other man's face in his chest, Hannibal put his arms around him and soothingly rocked him from side to side. He didn't know what else he could do. He hoped it was the right move. This sort of thing did not come easy for him.

"Murdock, son, you're going to be okay. Wake up now. All the way." Remembering the men's laughter, he added, "I won't let them take you this time."

It took several anxious moments of watching for guards and comforting the panicked man but when the injured sounds stopped coming from the pilot's mouth, Hannibal released him.

His heart sank when the vacant stare returned to Murdock's face. Quietly he set to work flexing and extending the pilot's knee joint and then made sure he was sleeping again before crawling back onto the platform himself.

As he sank into a restless slumber, Hannibal thought again about escape. He wasn't about to leave men behind. The next day would bring them closer to Phu Bai and the point where his team would lose Murdock possibly for good. They would have to try it soon. They needed an opportunity to present itself.


	16. Chapter 16 Black Dogs' Innocent Prey

Morale

AN: This chapter contains some things that might be disturbing to some readers. Implied rape and death.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 16 Black Dogs' Innocent Prey

Murdock felt Hannibal working his knee joint in the gray dawn light but it was like he was looking down at the whole scene as an observer.

The scabbed wounds up and down the back of his legs and on his buttocks were in various degrees of infection. He knew that without having anyone tell him.

_Hurts like hell but I can' let anyone know. If I ever wanna 'scape, the element o' surprise is everythin'. _

He forced himself to retreat to the place in his mind where pain could not touch him. The Agency taught him how to do it. He supplied his own scenery.

_Cyndy beamed at him from her horse as they rode side by side toward the pasture. The sky opened up above them when they came to the end of the trail. He heard Cyndy giggle and prod her mount into a full gallop across the field, teasing him to follow and catch her. _

"_Come get me, H. M." Her voice was like a melody drifting through the air and he urged Flyboy to give chase. _

Tearing sounds told him the Colonel was ripping strips off his clothing. For a few seconds, the pilot couldn't figure out why he would be doing it.

He sensed Hannibal kneeling before him and felt the older man begin to wrap his feet with the cloth pieces.

"It may be a bit late but this should keep them from looking any more like ground hamburger than they already are. It's better than nothing at all. And you're next, Wilson."

_Ah, so that's it. Smart, Hann'bal. _

While the Colonel worked, Murdock allowed his mind to drift back to thoughts of the homestead and Cyndy, the girl he left behind.

_There was a good reason he let Cyndy saddle up Paloma. Paloma was slower than Flyboy. He almost laughed as Flyboy caught up to the gentle mare and he reached out to grab the reins from his girl. _

"_Whoa, there, li'l lady. Ya goin' my way?" He dismounted and helped Cyndy down from her horse. As her feet touched the ground, his lips touched hers . . ._

"Nhận họ chuẩn bị sẵn sàng để đi. (Get them ready to go.)" The sharp order from outside the hut broke Murdock's concentration and for a moment his eyes focused on Hannibal's face. The Colonel's icy blue gaze reflected surprise, then relief and finally, understanding.

Murdock shook his head, one brief almost imperceptible shake meant to communicate what he was trying to do, and then he let his gaze become as it had been.

_Damn it! Didn' mean for any of 'em t' know. Fewer folks know, more convincin' I'll be. If Ferret thinks I'm no risk t' 'scape, maybe he'll drop 'is guard jus' 'nough. _

Two guards entered the hut and fumbled fitting the keys to unlock the cuffs around Murdock's and Hannibal's ankles.

The coarse fibers of the rope collar scratched at the pilot's neck as one guard slipped it over his head and tightened it. Murdock resisted the urge to snarl and snap like a trapped dog.

_Serve 'im right if I bit 'im and gave 'im rabies. But then they'd know I was fakin'. _

The guard pulled at the rope, yanking him roughly toward the door. He prevented himself from lifting his hands to loosen the noose that suddenly began to choke off his air.

_I can't react. Gotta convince 'em. _

With great effort he kept himself from looking back at Wilson and Hannibal. Limping on his right leg, he slowly emerged from the hut. The sunlight, even though it was filtered through the leaves high above, assaulted his eyes, blinded him. He forced his lids to remain unblinking and his gaze to seem as blank as the previous day.

Face, B. A. and Heller were already in a single file line, hands tied behind them, a rope connecting each of them to the man ahead. He felt rather than saw the worried glances they sent his way when the guards weren't looking. A shuffling sound in the dirt behind him let him know Hannibal and Wilson were being attached to the human POW chain.

_Hope they put Hann'bal in the front. Anythin' starts happenin', he'll know what t' do. _

Minutes later, Ferret tugged at Murdock's leash, leading him forward out of the village.

Small muffled sobs increased in volume as they trudged on.

"Con gái của tôi. _Con gái của tôi!_ (My daughter. _My daughter!_)" The soft crying grew louder and became a wail.

Mingled in with the woman's cries, a man's voice demanded, "Những người đã làm điều này? (Who did this?)"

Murdock kept his eyes raised and on the back of the man leading him. Outwardly he composed his face to reflect no emotion but his gaze was taking in everything ahead of them. He felt his stomach knot in apprehension as they approached the source of the voices.

_God, no. Please God, no! _

A group of villagers were blocking the trail, their bowed figures huddled over something in the underbrush. The wailing woman, her eyes darting wildly from the spectacle at her feet to the approaching line of prisoners and guards, suddenly stopped her crying.

She ran, hurtling along the path toward them, her face a wet and contorted mess of grief and rage. Pushing past the head officer, the distraught mother clawed at Murdock's face. With difficulty, Murdock kept his expression impassive as her nails lacerated both cheeks and drew blood. Her fingers were inches from scratching out his eyes before her husband wrestled her away.

Ferret's eyes glinted with suspicion as he appraised the pilot's unresponsiveness. When he turned to address the man and woman, he did so with the authority of an NVA officer.

"Con gái của bạn đã giúp những kẻ giết người. Cô là một bài học cho tất cả cả để học hỏi từ. (Your daughter was helping the murderers. She is a lesson for all to learn from.)" He tugged at Murdock's leash and pulled him toward the villagers lining either side of the path.

The pilot remembered Wilson's soft reminisciences from the night before and prayed in his heart the Navy Captain would not do anything rash.

_He does, he's a dead man. _

They would all have to pass by the little girl's body. They would all have to go through the double line of villagers, all of them blaming the American criminals for the punishment one of their own had suffered.

As they came alongside the place where the small group had gathered, Ferret stopped abruptly in the path, making Murdock come to a halt as well. The officer turned him sideways on the trail and pushed him into a kneeling position. The jarring of his right knee against the firm ground sent electric shocks of pain through the rest of his body. He forced his breathing to remain the same though everything inside him wanted to either scream in pain or run from the sight.

_I can't react. Lord help me, I can't let 'im see what I feel. _

Directly in front of him, the small girl from the day before lay face up and spreadeagled where she had been killed. Her clothing lay torn and strewn in the foliage around her. Her lifeless black button eyes stared toward the canopy of the jungle. A piece of cloth, half in and half out of her mouth, had been used to muffle her cries.

"You caused this girl's death, not us," Ferret breathed in Murdock's ear. "You are a criminal. You murder our people from the sky." Frustrated over his own broken English and the pilot's continued detachment, Ferret gripped him by his hair and forced his head down to get a better view of the corpse. "Remember this."

He felt what was left of the meal from the night before rising to the back of his throat. Swallowing several times, he hoped the officer did not see it as a sign of his horror over what the guards had done.

_Horrible don' even begin t' describe what they did here. _

Murdock remembered waking during the night to the recurring dream of the screaming snared white rabbit.

_This was what I heard. No rabbit. This. This sweet innocent li'l child. _

Ferret lifted him to his feet by his hair and the rope collar. Looking back at the rest of the guards he shot them some rapid commands. "Làm cho họ tất cả trông. Đây là tội phạm của họ. (Make them all look. Here's their crime.)"

The noose tightened around his neck again and Ferret and he continued down the trail. From the sounds coming from behind them, none of the others were made to kneel and stare at the little girl's body. For that, Murdock was grateful.

Wilson let a small cry of helpless anger escape his lips as he was led past. The grunt that followed told Murdock that the Navy man was duly punished for his outburst. He could only imagine what was running through the father's mind as he got his glimpse of the girl. Did he think of Sophia, his own daughter?

The wailing of the mother and the vision of the small murdered girl's sightless eyes and violated body haunted Murdock throughout the rest of the morning hike.

_All she did was offer a bowl o' water. _


	17. Chapter 17 White Dog Strikes Back

Morale

AN: Graphic description of death.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 17 White Dog Strikes Back

B. A. kept his eyes focused on his feet and almost knocked Heller down when the line came to an abrupt halt.

_Somebody's fell. Pace we're goin', it was bound to happen. _

He lifted his gaze just enough to check on Hannibal at the head of their prisoner chain and Murdock and Ferret several paces beyond. At least Face anticipated the stop and didn't run into him.

_We woulda been like a row of dominoes, fallin' one right after another if he had. _

He knew he should probably be just as concerned with the two other POWs in their party . . .

_. . . But Murdock, Hannibal, Faceman . . . they're like family. Anythin' happens to any one of them . . . _

It was Wilson. Swaying in his tracks, doubled over with abdominal cramps, he vomited violently into the ferns at the side of the trail. Seconds later he collapsed onto his knees, still retching.

The soldier immediately behind B. A. nudged him aside, using a rifle butt to his stomach to make room on the path to get past. The soldier to Hannibal's right side fell back to assist.

Ferret's angry voice preceded him up the trail. "Sự chậm trễ là gì? (What is the delay?)"

B. A. glanced at Murdock on the rope leash, trailing behind the head officer. For a second, the Sergeant thought he caught the pilot's gaze, one filled with fear for his fellow POWs, flicker from Wilson to Hannibal. Just as suddenly the blank stare was back.

_Coulda swore I saw it. _

The Sergeant was so intent on what he thought he saw that he did not notice Ferret pull his knife from its sheath. Not until Hannibal stepped in the way of the lead soldier did B. A. realize the danger Wilson was in.

The Navy man bent double over his knees and closed his eyes as if surrendering to his fate. His chest heaved with his raspy breaths. His lips moved in a silent prayer.

"Không có sự chậm trễ thêm! (No more delays!)" Ferret hissed as he brandished the knife.

_Oh shit! _

Almost as if everything was happening in slow motion, B. A. observed Hannibal back up until he was standing directly in front of the Navy pilot, his back to him. "Stand up, Captain! That's an order!" he growled over his shoulder as he kept the lead soldier from reaching Wilson.

The Navy man glanced up, agony and resignation etched on his face. "Tell Mary 'n' Sophia I love 'em."

"You'll tell them that yourself, Captain. Stand up." The Colonel kept his icy blue gaze on the head officer before him.

B. A. watched as Ferret's glittering eyes considered Hannibal and the man kneeling beyond him. Because of his rank, the Colonel was the second most important prisoner Ferret had in his possession.

_But is Hannibal's position important 'nough for Ferret to drop it? Or will the Colonel get a knife t' the guts for interfering? _

Movement from behind the officer attracted the Sergeant's attention and he realized, dumbfounded, that Murdock wasn't stopping. He continued to shorten the distance between Ferret and himself, walking as if in a trance, his limping steps steadily increasing in speed.

_Crazy fool! Ferret'll kill him, he knocks him over. _

Just before the pilot was about to collide with the lead officer, B. A. shuffled forward. "I'll carry him."

Murdock stopped in his tracks at those words. Everyone stopped moving. Wilson turned a haggard pale face to the Sergeant, surprise and shame mingled in his expression.

Ferret gave Hannibal and the black man a scrutinizing look before nodding to one of the soldiers to release Wilson and B. A. from the human chain.

One of the VC removed the ropes around B. A.'s and Wilson's wrists and for a moment the burly Sergeant eyed the soldiers around him.

_I could take out two, maybe three, of 'em but they got the weapons. They'd kill me or one of the others, maybe more, maybe all of us. Can't risk it. Gotta get the odds more in my favor b'fore I move. _

He squatted in front of Wilson. "Put yer scawny arms 'round my neck piggyback style an' hold on tight," he muttered. When he hesitated, the black man growled, "Do it. I ain' offerin' ta save yer ass twice."

With the Navy pilot's chest pressed against his back and the man's arms gripping him, B. A. grasped Wilson around his thighs and lifted himself and his passenger to a stand.

_Least for now this guy'll be safe from Ferret. _

His gaze settled on Murdock. For a second, he saw clarity in those brown eyes, a mixed look of gratitude and relief. Then the expression went vacant again.

_I know I didn't 'magine nothin' this time. He's got a plan. Keep my eyes on the crazy man an' when he makes his move, I'll make mine. Just hope he don't wait too long. _

oooooo

They stopped at midday to eat and rest. From the downcast eyes of his fellow prisoners, Murdock figured none of them were hungry. The memories of the young girl's corpse and the close call Wilson had with Ferret occupied his mind.

_Rest of 'em's gotta be 'memberin' that, too. 'N' now both B. A. 'n' Hann'bal know I'm not as gone as I'm lettin' on t' be. Jus' hope the Big Guy'll be ready t' move when I am. _

The guards forced Heller, Peck and Hannibal to sit with their backs up against the trunks of trees, their hands tied behind them.

Murdock sat by himself near Ferret's feet. The rope collar was the only restraint the head guard kept on him. The leash end was tied around a tree trunk. After tethering the pilot's rope to the tree trunk, Ferret stood just within reach and surveyed the semicircle of POWs with satisfaction.

_Whatever I do, it's gotta be quick, quiet 'n' when the other guard has 'is back turned._

Three guards were sent to forage for water, wood and anything that could be added to the meal while Ferret and another guard stayed with the prisoners. The sound the foragers made as they cut through the undergrowth soon faded into the distance. B. A. stood with Wilson still clinging to his back.

_Now'd be a good time with the odds in our favor but I make a move 'gainst Ferret, the other guard's gonna cut loose with his gun. _

The head officer motioned at B. A. with his weapon. "Kiềm chế Anh ta. (Restrain him.)"

To the Sergeant he ordered, "Put the sick one down."

Murdock forced his eyes to stare into the underbrush across the trail from him but his peripheral vision was picking up on every movement the head officer made. The knife in its sheath was only an arm's-length away.

The second soldier slung his weapon over his shoulder by its strap and removed rope from a bag. He tore away Wilson's grip on B. A.'s neck. The Navy pilot fell to the ground and lay in a heap. Murdock couldn't be sure if the man was alive or dead.

_'N' Ferret'd jus' as soon make sure we leave this place without 'im. _

Wilson mumbled something, his eyes squeezed shut, his arms clutched around his midsection. The lead officer grunted and took one step toward him, his gun again slung over his shoulder.

_He makes it over to 'im, he's gonna kill 'im. I can't let that happen. _

In one lithe movement, Murdock sprang to his feet, ignoring the tightened collar around his neck and the shot of pain in his knee. He slipped the knife from its holder with his right hand while his left arm throttled Ferret with as much strength as he could muster.

B. A. saw and barreled forward, ramming his head into the other soldier's belly, knocking him into the jungle foliage on the other side of the path. In an instant, he was on him, his body pressing the gun underneath the soldier, his massive hands choking off the man's life.

With everything he had left in him, Murdock jammed the knife blade to its hilt into the lead soldier's belly and forced the blade upward. Blood sprayed over his forearm and hand. Removing the knife, he fell backwards still clutching Ferret's body to himself.

The officer's legs and arms spasmed. His hands gripped at Murdock's hold around his neck. Pulling upward with his arm, the pilot exposed the soldier's neck and made a quick deep cut to sever the carotid artery. A plume of blood spurted from the wound and Ferret's movements slowed and ceased.

Breathing heavily, Murdock sank back and let his hand with the knife fall to the side. Before he could stop it, a whimper came from his lips as the full extent of what he had just done hit him.

_I killed a man. His blood's on my hands. _

Shuddering, he closed his eyes and was only vaguely aware of B. A. next to him, gently removing the knife from his hand.

"It's alright, man. Ya did what ya had ta do." The Sergeant's gruff voice pierced the thoughts that were fogging his mind.

_I killed somebody. _

He felt and heard Ferret's body being lifted away from his own and tossed aside into the underbrush. Moments later, B. A. raised his head and loosened and slipped the rope from around his neck.

"You all right, fool? 'Cause we ain't got much time 'fore those others come back an' find this mess." The Sergeant's concerned scowl swam into view as Murdock opened his eyes.

_They're gonna need my help. I gotta focus on my unit. _

He slowly nodded and propped himself up on his elbows as B. A. moved away to cut the ropes binding the others. Beside him, Ferret's lifeless eyes stared up into the canopy of leaves above in an eerie echo of those of the little girl.

Turning to his side, Murdock caught sight of the other soldier, his lips blue-tinged, his eyes wide and unblinking. He staggered to his feet and backed away from both bodies, unconsciously wiping the blood on his hands on his shirt front. He was unaware of Hannibal behind him until the Colonel touched him on the shoulder.

"Good to have you back among the living, Captain."

The pilot shuddered again, trying to push the memories into the place in his mind where he would not explore them.

Hannibal tightened his grip on his bony shoulder, causing just enough pain to break through the swirling emotions.

"We have to move . . . now."

Murdock nodded again and forced his feet to follow the others off the path and deeper into the jungle.


	18. Chapter 18 White Dogs Plan a Course

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 18 White Dogs Plan a Route

Before sending Murdock along with Heller, B. A. and Wilson, Hannibal gestured toward Ferret and the other soldier. "We can't go out into this jungle empty-handed. Face and I'll gather what we can and catch up with you. There's no sense in all of us staying behind to do it."

Murdock's head still reeled with the actions of the last several minutes. His gaze fell on Ferret's frozen features, the death mask bloody and contorted in its silent rest, the limbs splayed and stiffening. Gulping in a shuddering breath, he took a wobbly step to follow Heller into the jungle, looking back at the other dead soldier as he did.

_God, the Colonel's gotta understan', it ain' so easy for me t' shake this off. I'm a pilot, for God's sake, not a killin' machine. _

"Murdock, B. A. was right. You did what you had to do. Wilson would be dead if not for you." With a small jolt of surprise at Hannibal's soft words, he glanced up and noted the steel blue eyes regarding him with what seemed to be sympathy. Then the look was replaced with an urgent businesslike iciness.

"While we strip the bodies, Captain, I want you and Wilson to get your heads together and figure out where you think we are and where you think we need to go." Hannibal nodded a curt dismissal before bending to lift the canteen from Ferret's body.

Face leaned over to grab the other soldier by the sleeve and turn him over. Removing the AK-47 from the dead man and slinging it over his own shoulder, his eyes met Murdock's for only a moment. "Get going, buddy. We'll be only a couple of minutes," he urged.

The pilot frowned and whispered, "Don't let 'em find ya here, Faceman." Without another word, he let his feet direct him away from the small clearing and into the dense foliage.

_I know we gotta have somethin' t' be able t' survive out here but Face 'n' Hann'bal're way too comfortable scavengin' supplies from the dead. _

A shiver ran through his body as he limped after the others.

_But then they've met the enemy on the ground Lord knows how many times more than I have. _

Heller had directed B. A. and Wilson to follow him several yards down to a shallow indentation in the side of the rocky slope. Not deep enough to be called a cave, it afforded shelter and a temporary hiding place to regroup and wait for the other two men.

Murdock found Wilson sitting with his back propped against the mossy rocks behind him. His sunken eyes were closed and he took shaky breaths through his mouth. The paleness of his skin and jutting cheekbones emphasized his gaunt face.

"Ya look like hell, Bruce," Murdock murmured as he eased himself down to sit beside him, his right knee only slightly bent. Pain like an electric current shot up and down his leg.

_Shit! That's never gonna hold up in this terrain at the pace we're gonna hafta go t' get 'way. I'll slow 'em all down. But Hann'bal don' leave men b'hind. _

The Navy pilot cracked open one eye and snorted before closing it again. "That a professional medical 'pinion? 'R are ya a beauty contes' judge now?"

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Murdock had to give him a cocky grin. "Wha' d'you think?"

Wilson smirked before peering at his companion with solemn eyes. "That was a pretty risky move ya did up there. Saved my life. I owe ya."

Murdock winced as he flexed his right knee in an effort to keep it somewhat flexible.

_Damn thing's gettin' 's big 's a muskmelon. _

"Ya serious 'bout owin' me? Here's how ya repay me then." He squinted at the man beside him, made sure he had eye contact before he continued. "Ya make sure ya stay safe 'n' get yer sorry Navy ass back t' yer li'l girl 'n' sweetie. Got that? I don' wanna pay no condolence visits 'n' hafta hug on yer gals while they bawl their eyes out."

"Same back atcha, flyboy. I heard ya talkin' 'bout that li'l redhead ya got waitin' for ya. I wouldn't hafta show 'er what she was missin' all this time." Wilson challenged him with a cocked eyebrow and a friendly punch to the arm.

_Cyndy. _

For a moment Murdock's thoughts strayed to that last day he was in the hospital back home, her reading _Peter Pan _to him, thinking he would be graduating with her and his classmates the next week.

He swiped a blood-covered hand across his eyes and then stared at the drying dark red stain. Roughly wiping his hand on his pants leg, he flinched at the memory of the last almost fatal beating he endured. He had woke up in the hospital . . .

_. . . and never did graduate. Least not on stage. Had t' leave town 'r Pa would o' killed me. But I can't think o' that now. Whole lotta history's gone by since I left Sour Lake. _

"Hann'bal wants us t' plot a course o' escape." Murdock murmured, resting his head back against the wall of the hollow, making the memories retreat to the deeper recesses of his mind. "So where d'ya think we are?"

"I been so in 'n' outta reality with this damn dysentery I'm not totally sure. You got a idea?" Wilson peered off into the distance, what little he could see through the undergrowth. Raising one hand, he pointed out an occasional silvery flash through the leaves. "That looks t' me t' be some kinda stream a couple miles 'way. Our VC friends might o' went there t' get some water fer cookin'. If it's anythin' like back home, it'll lead inta a bigger stream, 'n' _maybe_ eventually t' the South China Sea."

Murdock squinted toward the flash and nodded. "That'd be an easy method t' find our way t' the shore but all the villages up 'n' down might be gettin' their water from it. No tellin' which'd be friendly."

"Still, water'd be awfully good 'bout now. Hardly got 'nough in me t' piss once a day." Wilson's tone was matter-of-fact but his companion knew the statement meant severe dehydration.

_We gotta start gettin' water inta 'im, keep 'im hydrated 'r he ain' gonna las'. Doctor'd be the next best thing but we gotta do firs' things firs'. _

"The camp was 'most sixty miles south south-west o' Da Nang. Figure we were travelin' 'bout thirty miles at the mos' a day, in a northwesterly direction . . . " Murdock tried to envision navigation charts in his mind and knew Wilson was attempting to do the same.

"I don' get that though. Phu Bai's northeast o' the camp. Why'd they take a northwesterly path 'n' add maybe fifty 'r sixty miles t' their march?" Wilson scratched his head.

"'Less there's somethin' they knew 'bout where our forces were located and they were skirtin' 'em," Murdock mused. "But if we go due east, will we find our guys or theirs first? Or will we hit Phu Bai? We're far 'nough north t' do that, I figure."

A slight rustling in the foliage above them silenced both pilots. They stared in the direction of the sound, both holding their breath. B. A. and Heller, who had been listening to their conversation, shrank deeper into the ferns around the indentation in the slope, ready to assault any soldier looking for them.

"B. A.?" Hannibal's hoarse whisper alerted them to his approach.

"Here, Hannibal." The black man crept from the hiding place and met the Colonel. "What you need me ta do?"

The Colonel scanned the two pilots sitting side by side in the hollow of the slope. "Well, before our friendly neighborhood gooks come back and find the little bloodbath we left for them to clean up, I suggest we head out. You two good to go?"

Murdock nodded, clenched his teeth and rolled onto his left hip. Getting his knee under him and his arms fully extended under him, he tried to push himself up onto his good leg. He stifled a groan as he fell back onto his left knee.

B. A. gripped the Navy man under the arms and lifted him to his feet, holding him until he didn't wobble. "Ya ready to make some tracks?"

Wilson nodded and shivered. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The black Sergeant's gaze wandered down to where Murdock struggled to get his right leg under him. "You gonna make it, man?" He knelt to put the pilot's right arm over his shoulder and get him back on his feet.

"I gotta, don' I, Big Guy? Can' have ya tryin' t' figure out where ya are out here without my navigational skills helpin' ya, can I? Ya'll 'd get lost." Murdock forced a lopsided grin on his face and tried to control his breathing.

_Truth is, I don' know if either Wilson 'r me's gonna make it. 'Bout now, I wouldn' mind ya sendin' some angels our way, Billy, t' keep the gooks from seein' us. 'N' maybe a friendly chopper 'r two t' meet us somewhere 'n' get us t' Da Nang safe 'n' sound? 'Kay? _

Face came up beside them, a rucksack half-full of rice on one shoulder and the AK-47 on the other. A web belt complete with sheathed knife and canteen was buckled snugly over his black pyjama shirt.

"I'll help Murdock and you help Wilson, B. A." The Lieutenant's blue eyes flitted over the pilot's knee, twice the size of the other one and straining the confines of the pant leg. His expression became grim as he shook his head. "Before you say you don't need any help . . . "

The pilot nodded his consent, a pained frown creasing his brow, and allowed Face to sling his left arm around his waist and hold Murdock's right arm around his shoulders. "Jus' this once, Faceman, but don' get too used t' it. I mean, yer really not my type," he gasped out as he put his weight on both legs. "'N' I'm savin' my huggin' fer my gal back home."

"Where to, Captains?" With a concerned scowl, Hannibal surveyed the two men. Murdock pointed toward the distant stream.

"East, mein Colonel, east t' that waterin' hole," he murmured, then glanced at Wilson. "If we're careful o' villagers seein' us, it should lead us t' the Song Bo River 'n' maybe outta here."

"East it is then. Face, give Heller that weapon and let's move out. But let's try not to leave a path as big as an L. A. freeway for them to follow."

"You got it, Hannibal." B. A. hoisted Wilson onto his back and followed the Colonel down the rocky slope, Face and Murdock limping along after him and Heller taking up the rear.


	19. Chapter 19 Might As Well Be Dead

Morale

AN: The song Murdock sings at the end is "Rain" by The Beatles. It was released in 1966.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 19 Might As Well Be Dead

Face glanced to his left at the pinched features of his best friend. The pilot's eyes kept wandering to his right hand and the dried blood on it, continually wiping it the length of his shirt as if doing so would get rid of the stain on his conscience.

_Murdock's hurting both inside and out and I can't do much to help him. _

They were descending a mountainside toward the stream sparkling in the distance. Large sheets of shale and granite boulders, slimy with moss and moisture, made the men between Hannibal on point and Heller bringing up the rear pick their way carefully downhill. It was a precarious downward progression at best. B. A. with Wilson on his back skidded along the surfaces once or twice but managed to keep his feet under him.

_For as big as he is, B. A. almost seems like half mountain goat on these rocky slopes. _

The Lieutenant couldn't do more than give occasional glances to the man hobbling beside him but with each one he managed to steal he observed Murdock's pain was increasing. The heat alone that the feverish body emitted cautioned Face that some of the worst of the wounds on his friend's legs remained infected and might be worsening again. The more he was on his feet, the more the knee swelled and froze the leg into a stiffened log-like appendage.

And Hannibal showed no sign of slowing their travel. He couldn't, Face realized, or the other three NVA guards would surely hunt them down. From somewhere very far behind them, the faint whistles the guards relayed back and forth as they searched told Face that much. But the speed of their journey toward the stream was punishing to the two sick and injured men and their assistants.

_It's almost as bad as the pace Ferret was setting for us. I hope when we make that stream, there'll be time to care for Murdock and Wilson's needs and let them get a good rest. _

Face realized Wilson wasn't having any better time of it. The Navy pilot insisted on walking part of the distance under his own power.

"My legs operate jus' fine . . . 'n' I guess we all know I ain' constipated." His argument was met with a frown from Murdock.

"You let the Big Guy there help ya when ya need it, Navy boy. It ain' often he gives out piggyback rides like he's givin' you." Then the pilot graced Wilson with a brief pain-filled lopsided smile. "'Njoy it while ya can."

B. A. scowled back at the injured man and growled, "Shut up, crazy fool!" Face noticed the black man's dark eyes flicker down to the pants leg tight around Murdock's knee. He knew if B. A. could manage it, he would willingly carry both of them for as long as it took to get them to safety.

_But neither of them are going to complain. They're good men. They deserve better than to rot in some POW camp or die halfway around the world._

The Navy man allowed B. A. to hitch him into the piggyback position only after his quickly taken toilet breaks among the foliage. The times he doubled over with cramps and had to let his pants down to allow the watery bloody mucus to explode from him were occurring more frequently, his weakness more apparent each time he finished. As soon as his strength returned, he nudged the black man to let him down to walk until the next bout of cramps.

"Don' like doin' that so often," he rasped after one session. "But I don' think the Sergeant here wants shit down 'is back either. 'S like leavin' a trail o' bread crumbs if they come 'cross it. Sure hope they don'."

They moved on quietly, trying to leave the ferns and other low-lying plants unflattened. When they spoke, it was in low growls or whispers.

Face's left foot slid out from under him, bringing himself and Murdock tumbling onto their backsides to the rocky ground. The Lieutenant heard the pilot suck in a sharp breath as his right leg involuntarily bent at the knee when he fell.

"Shit!" he grunted, struggling to a sitting position and reaching with both hands to cradle the injured knee. Rocking back and forth, he bent over his leg. Tears streamed from the corners of tightly closed eyes as he muttered, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Hannibal!" When the Colonel kept moving, Face hissed. "B. A.! Get Hannibal."

"Hannibal! Murdock's down, man! Can't go much farther." The Sergeant passed the message in a low murmur and came back to squat beside the pilot. "Ya got to keep goin', man. Do I got to carry you?"

The pilot vigorously shook his head and swallowed back a groan. A few seconds later when Hannibal joined the huddle, Murdock opened his eyes and sighed sadly, a pained frown creasing his brow.

"Sorry, Hann'bal. Don' mean t' slow us all down. Maybe ya'll better leave me."

Squatting, Hannibal put one hand on the injured man's shoulder and forced eye contact. "Captain, I never leave a man behind. If I have to carry you myself, I will _not_ leave you behind."

"Goes _double_ fer me, sucker," B. A. rumbled, his hand on the pilot's other shoulder.

Hannibal rocked back onto his heels and stood, looking down. Motioning to B. A., the Colonel moved to Murdock's left and waited for the Sergeant to take his place on the other side.

The pilot grimaced as the two men took him under the arms and lifted him to his feet.

Glancing toward the distant flash of silver, the Colonel gave him a solemn look. "I'd say we're only about another twenty or thirty minutes away before we can really rest. What do you think?"

Murdock squinted in the same direction. "Maybe," he cautiously agreed.

"Think you can last that long if we slow down a little?"

"Maybe." He shot Hannibal a thankful half-smile. "'S long as I get t' see that white Christmas ya promised me when we get back t' the States."

The Colonel gave the pilot a surprised look that he had remembered that conversation before returning the smile. "You got it, Murdock." He eyed both pilots. "Listen. If either of you need another short rest before we get to the stream, you tell me. Can't be long periods of time but if it gets you there, we'll do it."

The two men looked at each other, gave each other an appraising look. "If Navy there can make it, I can, too." Murdock had a too bright challenging glint in his eye and a smirk curling his lips.

"Oh, I can make it. Prob'ly end up carryin' _you_, flyboy." Wilson grinned back.

"Ha!" Murdock snorted and let Face hook his arm around his waist and pull his right arm over his shoulder. "Race ya, Bruce. Last one t' the stream's a rottin' mango."

Face noticed the pilot put a little more effort into his steps, kept his focus on the sparkle that beckoned from afar.

_That's right, buddy. Whatever'll keep you putting one foot ahead of the other until we're safe. _

oooooo

True to Hannibal's estimations, the six men reached the stream in about thirty minutes. Halfway stumbling over the last few moss-topped boulders, Face and Murdock reached the shore as Heller and Hannibal squatted at the water's edge filling the two canteens.

Downstream from them, Wilson waded into the water up to his knees and gleefully shot the other pilot a playful look.

"Guess yer the rottin' mango, Murdock."

Ignoring the comment, Murdock stared at a small waterfall cascading over rocks on the slope they had just traversed and limped toward it. His progress was painful to see.

B. A. and Face watched as the pilot stood under the spray, his face uplifted, his hands clenched into fists. Even from a few yards away, it was evident to both of them that he carried a heavy emotional burden.

"He thinks he can wash it 'way, Faceman. That blood from Ferret. But you know an' I know it can't be washed 'way that easy." B. A. let out a heavy sigh. "You know the fool an' I don't talk too good t'gether, 'specially 'bout stuff like this." He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes pleading and concerned. "It's gonna eat him up 'less someone gets him ta talk 'bout it."

"And you're nominating me." Face gazed at his best friend as he held his open hands up to the rushing water and rubbed them together as if cleaning them. He closed his eyes and allowed the cascade to plaster his hair against his scalp and drench the black pyjamas. Raising his hands, he clutched the sides of his head and let the water splash over his face. "Okay. I guess I'd better go talk to him before Hannibal gets us moving again."

"Thanks, Face." B. A. caught the Lieutenant's black sleeve. "But don't let him know I said anythin', okay?"

Face nodded and smiled bitterly. "Your secret's safe with me."

_But what exactly do I say to him? The first one you kill's always the worst? _

As he approached, the Lieutenant saw the shuddering motion of the shoulders. Much of the blood was already washed off the hands, face and clothing.

"Nothing like a jungle shower to get clean." Face announced his approach from a few feet away. He hadn't missed the slight sobbing sounds but he wasn't about to humiliate the pilot. The sounds stopped and the lanky frame stiffened.

"Clean." A choking chuckle came from the man standing under the waterfall, his back to the Lieutenant. "Yeah, clean."

With a sense of the unreal, Face heard Murdock begin to sing something softly.

_If the__ rain comes, they run and hide their heads.  
They might as well be dead._

Peering up the mountainous slope, listening for enemy voices, Face hurried toward his friend. "Murdock," he hissed. "Keep it down." To himself, he wondered, _What the hell does he think he's doing? _

The pilot hid his face in his hands, still turned toward the rocks behind the falling water. From behind his fingers, he sang the next verse. It was muffled but loud enough to get B. A. and Hannibal following the Lieutenant.

_If the__ rain comes. if the__ rain comes.  
When the sun shines, they slip into the shade.  
And sip their lemonade._

A small guttural groan came from his throat before the next lines came out, a little quieter, a little slower.

_When the sun shines. when the sun shines.  
__Rain, I don't mind.  
Shine, the weather's fine. _

Face was within an arm's-length when B. A. pushed past him and grabbed Murdock's arm from behind. "What you doin', fool? Ya wanna bring all o' the NVA down on us?" he muttered.

The pilot's entire body shuddered before he let the final words escape from him. They were almost a whisper.

_I can show you that when it starts to__ rain.  
Everything's the same.  
I can show you. I can show you._

B. A.'s large hand clamped over Murdock's mouth and his arm encircled not only the man's slender waist but also pinned his thin arms to his sides. The pilot flailed, his legs trying to kick his attacker and at the same time keep his footing. Stifled screams of terror signaled to both the Sergeant and Lieutenant that their friend had stepped away from reality and into delirium.

Before Face could stop him, B. A. whirled the injured man toward him and knocked him out with a solid right cross to the jaw. For a moment, the Lieutenant saw the crazed wide-eyed look on his friend's face. Then his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he fell forward into the big man's embrace. Watching the trail they had been on, the Sergeant dragged Murdock's limp body into a drier area beside the waterfall.

"Take cover." Hannibal's hoarse command didn't need repeating.

The others stopped what they were doing and melted into the dense foliage fringing the stream bank until their safety could be determined. Looking along the shoreline, the Lieutenant noted that except for the rapidly evaporating wet prints from Wilson's feet, no one would be able to identify they had been there.

B. A. glanced at Face, apology, regret and apprehension in the dark eyes. He cradled Murdock's body in his arms and shook his head.

"I didn't mean ta hit him so hard," he whispered. "Ya believe me, don'tcha?" The pilot's jaw was already darkening.

The Lieutenant knelt beside them, his ears open for any movement around them. Gradually, the songs of the birds and the hoots and whoops of gibbons in the trees returned to accompany the splash of the water on the rocks.

"You did what you had to do to keep us all safe." Face's softly murmured words were meant to reassure but he saw from B. A.'s tragic expression they didn't achieve that effect.

The Sergeant clutched the injured pilot closer to his powerful chest and gave the Lieutenant a fierce look. "It's just I ain' gonna let the gooks get him again. Even if that means I gotta keep him unconscious an' carry him outta this jungle on my back all the way ta the sea."

Face patted the big man on the shoulder and nodded, understanding B. A.'s anger and determination. "Me neither, B. A." At the same time, he felt his stomach knot at the memory of Murdock's wild-eyed expression.

_I hope it doesn't come to that. _


	20. Chapter 20 White Dog Amends

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 20 White Dog Amends

It took almost a half hour but Hannibal couldn't proceed until he was certain none of the searching soldiers had heard Murdock's musical outburst or seen signs of their descent to the stream. Only then did he enlist Heller's and Face's help in treating the pilot's infected wounds.

B. A. didn't want to leave Murdock's side but the Colonel insisted.

"After all, the last thing he saw was your fist connecting with his face. He wasn't in his right mind. We don't know how or even who he's going to be when he wakes up from the sleep you forced on him. He might struggle if he sees you bending over him." Hannibal knew the words stung the burly Sergeant from the faint flicker of remorse he saw cross his face but it couldn't be helped.

_I know how bad he feels about what he did. But if Murdock wakes up and starts screaming, he'll attract all kinds of the wrong attention. He needs something useful to do while we wait. _

The older man nodded toward the other member of their small party. Sitting a short distance away, Wilson utilized a piece of bamboo he had fashioned into a type of knife to scrape attached leeches from his legs and feet. With a great deal of concern, he often glanced over to see if Murdock had regained consciousness. "Maybe you can make sure he continues to drink water and gets all those bloodsuckers off."

"Jus' wantcha ta know, Colonel. If I coulda kept him quiet any other way . . . " B. A. let his words trail off and he placed a large slightly trembling hand on Murdock's chest. Then he shook his head and turned away.

Hannibal drew the knife from its sheath on the web belt he had removed from Ferret. Carefully, he slit the black pyjama leg on Murdock's right side up to mid-thigh.

"No way were we going to get that pant cuff past the knee," Face breathed, staring at the dark blue and purple, almost black, bruises and swelling.

With a low whistle, Heller agreed. "It's a wonder he continues t' move 'long on it at all. I've been watchin'. He can't even bend it anymore."

"I checked it back in the village and nothing was broken as far as I could tell. It doesn't mean I didn't miss something."

_About now I wish we had a real medic here. That knee has to have some damage I don't know about. _

Hannibal exhaled a long sigh and glanced at his two helpers. "Heller, wet down this cloth so I can clean out his open wounds."

The Texan took the strips from the Colonel and moved toward the stream.

"While you're at it, try to find a piece of wood about six inches long and an inch or two in diameter."

Heller nodded.

_Wish I didn't have to do this at all but it's better to get it done when he's unconscious. _

Looking at Face, Hannibal muttered, "Let's turn him over on his stomach."

Together they took the pants down to around the pilot's ankles. While some of the wounds were scabbed over, others still had a telltale red border and oozed greenish yellow pus. A faint foul odor of infection rose from the worst-looking slashes.

Face took in a deep breath. "God, Hannibal. What can we do for him out here in the middle of nowhere?"

The Colonel glanced at the younger man. "It isn't going to be easy but I want you to sit down and hold the upper part of Murdock's body in your lap. Keep his arms pinned while I work."

Within minutes Heller handed the soaked cloth strips and piece of wood to the Colonel and took his place holding Murdock's ankles. The Colonel gently opened the pilot's mouth and inserted the piece of bamboo between his top and bottom teeth.

"Don't let him spit it out, Face."

The Lieutenant paled as Hannibal took the knife and pared away a small dead area of flesh inside one of the slash wounds. With the first debridement, Murdock jerked and moaned softly, the sound muffled against the wood bit in his mouth. Face bent his upper body over his friend, pressing the pilot's chest and upper arms into his left thigh and using his hand to prevent the bamboo from slipping out of its position.

"Most of these seem to be healing but there are five or six that we'll have to keep an eye on." The Colonel peeked up at the Lieutenant and Heller between cutting dead flesh away and washing the wounds. "It's no wonder he's so feverish."

After nearly a half hour of treating the wounds, Hannibal was ready to turn Murdock onto his back. They pulled the black pants up to his waist and cinched them with the drawstring.

Very little in the way of pain-filled sounds had come from the pilot after the first groan. When Face removed the piece of gnawed wood, they could see why.

"Wouldya look at that!" Heller frowned. "Chawed on like a dog'd worry a bone."

"Quiet sufferer," Hannibal remarked, placing his hand on Murdock's forehead. The pilot attempted to turn his head away, avoiding the cooler skin of the Colonel's hand.

"If you wouldn't mind sitting here with Murdock, Lieutenant, I think Heller and I'll take a look around and see if there's anything we can all eat that won't require us to send up smoke signals." The Colonel stood up. He took another worried appraisal of the wounded pilot before walking toward B. A. and Wilson to talk to them.

Heller strolled toward the water, scanning the shallower pools for any aquatic animals or algae they could eat.

"How're you doing, Captain?" Hannibal smiled at the feisty Navy pilot who squinted over at Murdock and Face.

"Tryin' ta stay on this big mudsucker's good side. Don' wanna end up like him." He gestured toward his unconscious friend.

The older man knew Wilson was trying to add humor to a bad situation but he noted the way B. A. looked away toward the waterfall. The big man scowled before turning back to the pilot.

"Here. Drink some more water," he grunted and pressed the canteen into Wilson's hands. "I wanna talk ta the Colonel . . . in private."

B. A. began swiftly walking away from the others, expecting Hannibal to catch up to him. When he did, the big Sergeant turned around and spoke in a low hesitant voice.

"Look, Colonel. Ya know I wade inta fights on base when someone's got it comin'. Been known ta send a Marine 'r two ta the infirmary. But I ain' never hit a guy in my own unit before like I hit the fool a while 'go. I gotta know . . . " He evaded Hannibal's eyes, looked out over the jungle on the opposite side of the stream. "Did I break 'is jaw?"

Hannibal hesitated before answering.

_B. A. packs a lot of power behind his punches. He knows he could have snapped Murdock's neck or given him a concussion with the force of that right cross. _

"Well, I don't think he'll want to chew steak for a while on that side. But broken? I don't think so."

The Colonel sensed there was more to the conversation than that and waited.

"Hope yer right." The black man paused. "Think he's gone nuts, Colonel? I mean, he wouldn't stop his singin'. Woulda got us all caught 'gain."

_That's the million dollar question, isn't it? All of those vacant stares, that silence, then the one thing he did to help us escape and he seems to have gone back to some kind of insanity because of it. _

He couldn't let the Sergeant know his doubts. "I think that Murdock is a lot more resilient than we give him credit for. He'll get through it."

"Hope yer right," B. A. repeated. He kept his eyes on the foliage in the distance. "Ain' never gonna punch him out 'gain no matter how irritatin' he gets. We get outta this jungle an' back to the States, I want ya ta know, I'm gonna make it up ta him. Maybe take 'im ta see my Momma 'round Christmastime. Momma'd prob'ly like that."

The Sergeant breathed in and exhaled slowly. Speaking almost to himself, he murmured, "Yeah, that's what I'll do. Momma likes company 'round the holidays. An' Murdock'll love Momma."

_B. A. has a soft side after all. That's something he isn't going to want a lot of others to know about. _

Hannibal patted B. A. on the shoulder. "Sounds like a plan, Sergeant."

"Somethin' else, Colonel?" The black man had his gaze on Hannibal now, regarding him with an air of a man asking a favor. "Wilson's got almost nothin' to him weight-wise an' he walks most o' the time anyway. Fool can't go a whole lot further on that knee, all banged up like it is."

"What are you thinking, B. A.?" He knew what the Sergeant was going to suggest but it was better coming from him.

"I been carryin' Wilson and he ain' that much lighter th'n Murdock. An' Murdock needs ta be off that leg. Maybe I could carry him an' let Faceman help Wilson along." The Sergeant's eyes drifted back along the stream bank to where Murdock lay.

"If you think you can do that, it might speed our progress." Hannibal smiled and clapped B. A. on the back.

"Yeah. I'll carry him 'long as he needs it. Maybe further." The Sergeant's voice was stronger, more determined, than when he started the conversation.

Heller approached, his hands filled with light brown speckled objects. "Whoo hoo! Lookee what I found!"

B. A. crinkled his nose. "What're those things?"

"Ha ha! Ain'tcha ever heard o' escargot, my friend?"

Hannibal grinned. "Face'll love you for that even if we can't cook them. He'll think we've finally developed a sense of taste for exotic foods."

B. A. snorted as he looked closer at what Heller gripped in his hands. "All those things is, is snails, man!"

Heller ignored his protest. "'N' as a side some green algae. I saw some fish swimmin' in one o' the pools but I gotta have somethin' t' get 'em." Heller squinted at the nearby bamboo stand. "Could whittle out a nice spear from one o' those but if the VC found it, they'd know for sure we went this way." He shrugged. "Ah well. All we need's some fruit 'n' we'll eat like kings."

"Slimy snails an' seaweed. Guess it ain' any worse than what we ate back in the camp." B. A. frowned as he saw Murdock move his head from side to side as if having a bad dream. "Fool's wakin' up, Colonel. Looks like he's wakin' ta a nightmare."

Hannibal quickened his steps over the rocks of the beach just as Murdock's eyes opened wide in terror.


	21. Chapter 21 White Dog Struggles

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 21 White Dog Struggles

"Hey, hey, buddy!" Face tried desperately to hold Murdock down on the ground but the pilot was throwing every last bit of his strength into the fight.

His left leg angled under him. The right leg twitched in his frantic attempt to bend it and gain leverage.

He arched his back as well as he was able and formed his hands into fists. His upper spine ground into the rocks underneath him, twisting his features with fresh pain.

And all the while the Lieutenant straddled him around his hips, his hands gripping Murdock's wrists, forcing the bony arms down to his sides.

Under the pilot's breath he muttered things that combined his fear, anger and flashback into a volatile outburst. . . and came in multiple languages.

As Hannibal, Heller and Wilson approached, they could hear the searing emotions underlying the words even if they couldn't understand what he said.

"Tôi sẽ không cho bạn biết! (I will not tell you!) Làm những gì bạn muốn. (Do what you want.)" Spittle flew from Murdock's mouth.

B. A. hung back, took one of the AK-47s and pointed it in the direction of the path they used to get to the stream, just in case they attracted the attention of any enemy soldiers. His dark eyes flickered from the nightmarish struggle in front of him to the mountainous slope and back again.

"Get him ta quiet down, Faceman!" the big man rasped with apprehension edging his voice. "No way I'm gonna slug him 'gain ta shut him up."

Some gasped breaths, then, "¿Qué tipo de padre son usted? (What type of father are you?) Déjeme en paz! (Leave me alone!)" Wild terrified eyes darted from the man holding him down to the men rushing to assist.

"Ein Felsen erzählt Geheimnisse nicht. (A rock does not tell secrets.) Ich werde nicht erzählen. (I will not tell.) _Ich werde nicht erzählen!_" The last words were a hoarse whisper as he writhed back and forth in an attempt to free himself. Something between a grimace and a sneer contorted his mouth.

"Captain." Hannibal knelt at his side, his hands cupping the injured pilot's flushed face, forcing eye contact. "Captain, you're with friends." Moments later, the Colonel jerked backward and sat down hard on the ground. The pilot had wrenched his face from the hands that gripped it and snapped at his supposed enemy with his teeth.

"Freunde? Oder Feinde? (Friends? Or enemies?)" He panted from his exertion. Kicking with his good leg at anyone near enough, he caught Heller a glancing blow and made him drop the snails.

"Hey!" The POW clutched his shin and backed away.

The wildly rolling eyes reminded Wilson of a panicky horse that had just heard the unmistakeable sound of a nearby rattler. He flinched as Murdock twisted his head viciously to the side. The injured man narrowly missed sinking his teeth into Face's forearm.

"Hannibal!" Both B. A. and Face hissed at the Colonel in unison to do something about the terrified pilot.

The older man hesitated for only a second before reaching for the wood bit and firmly pressing it back into the pilot's mouth. Taking one of the longest cloth strips he had used to clean the injured man's wounds, he gestured at Heller to force Murdock's wrists together and above his head. With a few quick movements, Hannibal secured the pilot's hands.

Face busied himself with tying a cloth strip to one end of the wooden stick and looping it around Murdock's neck to secure it to the other end. It was something he wished he had never learned from Ferret, a way of keeping a prisoner from being too noisy during a torture session.

Memories of the other means used on him, and he assumed others too, resurfaced and made him swallow heavily. Sometimes the camp guards would push a rag as far as it would go down Face's throat short of causing him to choke to death on it. That was always good for a few laughs . . . but not from the prisoner himself.

This was difficult enough emotionally for the blonde Lieutenant to do to his best friend.

As he settled slightly in his straddle position, Face's back came up against Wilson's head. The Navy pilot had taken another strip of cloth and bound Murdock's ankles together with it. "So he can't run 'way 'n' get himself captured." Wilson's expression showed how distasteful it was to him to restrain in such a manner someone he came to regard as a friend.

Hannibal stretched out a hand to help the Lieutenant to his feet and away from the pilot. Wilson rose from his position and staggered as he joined the others.

Stunned, the five men formed a semi-circle around the bound and gagged man. Murdock wriggled his body into a sitting position against a boulder so he could keep his glassy gaze on all of them at once. His breaths came in short shudders. A low growl gurgled from his throat whenever one of the five moved closer.

B. A. broke the uneasy silence among them. The black Sergeant's words stated a fact but the tone hinted of deep sorrow.

"He ain' recognizin' us, Hannibal." Guilt played across his features as he asked, "Did I do that ta him?"

oooooo

_Ferret leaned in closer to him and used the thick bamboo rod to shove the filthy rag back further into his throat. He was going to suffocate. The other guard lifted his bound elbows up and over the hook in the ceiling of the hut. The pain of suddenly dislocated shoulders brought a scream up from his belly that never made it past the cloth choking off his life breath. And Ferret laughed . . . _

He woke from the nightmare to the sense of an enemy kneeling next to him.

_Ferret? 'R 'nother one o' the bastards? But they ain' laughin' now. _

The black pyjama uniform of a village peasant swam into his blurred vision. Friendly or not? When had his eyesight become so poor?

_If my eyes don' get better 'n this, they're gonna ground me for life. What'd they do t' me? Try 'n' blind me? _

The figure dressed in black threw a leg over the top of him and sat atop his hips, holding his arms down at his sides. A new one for the guards, this straddle position. He struggled, throwing everything he could muster into the fight.

_They got me outta the ropes t' hol' me down . . . t' do what? They want me t' give 'em what I know. I won'. I can'. Too many lives'd be flushed down the toilet. _

He addressed the enemy pinning him to the floor of the interrogation hut. He told him what he always told him. If they knew he spoke their language . . .

"Tôi sẽ không cho bạn biết! (I will not tell you!) Làm những gì bạn muốn. (Do what you want.)"

_Oh God. Do what ya want? Did I jus' say that? 'N' in Vietnamese? _

The face above him no longer possessed Oriental features. He squinted to try to see more clearly and gasped his terror at the fuzzy features he thought he saw.

Long and lean, the man with the shock of reddish brown hair and cold brown eyes held him down for a punishment sure to put him in the hospital . . . again. The weight of the man, even as slender as he was, prevented him from taking deep breaths.

_Pa! _

It took several attempts before he was able to sputter, "¿Qué tipo de padre son usted? (What type of father are you?) Déjeme en paz! (Leave me alone!)"

_Why'd I use Spanish? Pa don' know any Spanish but tequila and cerveza. Knows how t' order up his strong drink 'n' beer chasers alright. _

Three men lurched toward them and he knew it was not going to be a fair fight.

_Some o' Pa's drunken buddies're gonna join in on the beatin'? This ain' gonna end well. _

The blurred image above him changed again. The blonde hair and blue eyes were vaguely familiar.

_Schiller? Thought B. A. put that drunk o' a Marine in the infirmary las' week. I know what he wants. _

Schiller demanded he pony up some information about how Faceman managed to requisition Hannibal's fancy Cuban cigars.

_Damned if I know how the Faceman does it. But I won' let Schiller know that. He'd go after my buddy. _

So he sneered in the face of his attacker and snarled, "Ein Felsen erzählt Geheimnisse nicht. (A rock does not tell secrets.) Ich werde nicht erzählen. (I will not tell.) _Ich werde nicht erzählen!_"

_There! Ya big dumb German. Try 'n' figure that one out. _

Someone gripped his face on either side.

_What happened t' my jaw? Hurts like hell. _

Whoever was forcing him to look at him was pressing too hard and sending pain shooting through the bone and teeth on that side. Through the fog of raspy voices and mutters coming his way he heard the word "friends."

_Friends don' belt ya in the jaw 'n' nearly break it. _

He did the only thing that had sometimes saved him in the past in fights with other soldiers. He let his actions become canine in nature. He jerked his face free and snapped at the hand that held him.

To his relief, the pressure on the sides of his head released and he managed to growl, "Freunde? Oder Feinde? (Friends? Or enemies?)"

_German again? Do I know what I'm doin' or sayin'? _

All he did know for certain was that he was being held down against his will and the men he thought he glimpsed through feverish eyes might be the enemy.

He kicked, wondering why only one of his legs would respond. Connecting with something solid, he next tried to bite the arm of the person on top of him but failed.

He wasn't prepared for the wooden gag that was forced into his mouth.

_Oh God, it is Ferret! I'm goin' t' get the shit beat outta me now. _

His wrists were pulled up above his head and bound tightly. At the same time, his ankles were being tied and the piece of bamboo was being secured in his mouth so he could not spit it out.

_He's got me now. I'm gonna die. Nobody's gonna hear it happen. Likely nobody'll ever know for sure. Not 'less they see my corpse bein' hauled out t' some shallow grave in the jungle. Hope Wilson 'members t' tell Gramma, Grampa 'n' Cyndy I went out fightin'. _

And then he sensed all of them backing away. The person straddling him got off and retreated to a safe distance. It confused him but he couldn't let his guard down.

_Yeah. Like I'm gonna be able t' protect myself all trussed up like a pig waitin' t' be slaughtered. Well, I ain' gonna let 'em kill me layin' down. _

He somehow righted his body into a sitting posture and edged away from them. Somewhere in this interrogation hut there was a wall that would support him and protect his back. He wriggled until he found a solid object to prop himself against.

The five shadowy shapes in front of him encircled his position.

_Gotta keep my eyes open, watch 'em, make sure they don' get closer. _

One of the men stepped toward him and he let out a deep-throated growl to warn the attacker to leave him alone.

_Sooner 'r later one o' em's gonna sneak up b'hin' me 'n' then I'll be dead. _

He thought he heard B. A.'s low rumbling voice but his ears weren't picking up what he was saying. Relief flooded into him.

_B. A.'ll keep me safe. He ain' gonna let 'em get me. But where is the big mudsucker? _

Until he knew for sure, he had to keep his own defenses up.


	22. Chapter 22 Soothing the White Dog

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 22 Soothing the White Dog

"Did I do that ta him?" B. A.'s regret-filled voice demanded an answer.

"I don't think you gave him a concussion if that's what you're wondering. It's the fever from those infected wounds, B. A. It wasn't you." Even as he said it, the Colonel knew there was more to this psychotic episode than simple delirium.

Even before Hannibal met him, he had been known as "Howlin' Mad" for good reason. Their ordeal in the camp had to have pushed the pilot's mental defenses to the limit. The blood Murdock spilled might have propelled him across the narrow border between sanity and insanity.

Hannibal kept his eyes trained on the bound man in front of them. He noticed a slight relaxing of the muscles after the Sergeant spoke. Then the muscles tightened again and the rigid defensive posture was back.

The Colonel contemplated the actions for a few moments.

"He mus' think we're VC guards or somethin'," Heller breathed, still rubbing his shin where Murdock kicked him. All thoughts of an escargot and algae meal faded with the memory of the struggle he had just witnessed.

None of them moved for several seconds. The pilot took in short ragged breaths through his nose. He tried to see all of them at once, moving his head back and forth around the semi-circle with growing agitation.

He edged his back closer to the boulder behind him and briefly squeezed his eyes shut as the rocks under him scraped off some of the scabs on his wounds. Face heard the soft grunt of pain and winced. Then the flashing brown eyes were open again, swiftly assessing whether any of them had moved in the short time they had been closed.

B. A.'s gaze shifted from Murdock to Hannibal.

"How we gonna keep on the move with him like this, Colonel? I carry him all tied up like that on my back an' he'll try ta choke me ta death first chance he gets." The Sergeant scanned the surrounding jungle for movement before letting his eyes settle on the pilot again.

A crimson sunbird perched on an eight foot tall shell ginger clump and gave a _chee-chee-wee_ before dipping its long beak into a yellow- and red-centered blossom. The bright flash of its scarlet breast and olive belly caught the pilot's attention for a second. Then he quickly returned his wary glare to the five men in front of him.

"We've got to start hiking out of here soon, Hannibal. I can't believe those soldiers won't eventually check this stream to see if we came here for water." Face shivered slightly with the thought of what would happen to Murdock and B. A. if they were recaptured.

They would _all_ be tortured for the escape attempt but the two men who took the lives of the guards would receive 'special treatment.' Death for death would be the NVA response. Slow tortuous death that wouldn't come until the NVA had made a lesson of both of them and avenged Ferret and the other guard.

"I want you to try something, B. A. Talk to him and try to get closer. Make sure he knows you've got his back." Hannibal murmured the words without looking at the Sergeant.

"What? Ya gotta be kiddin', Colonel. I was the one that decked 'im." The black man's brow creased in a deep frown. "He ain' gonna let me anywhere near 'im."

"I have a hunch he will. Just humor me, Sergeant. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. But I don't think I am." Hannibal crossed his arms indicating no further argument would be accepted.

Murdock, seeing the move, narrowed his eyes. He tried to draw his legs up toward his chest, a strangled moan escaping him when the right knee would not cooperate. Pressing against the rock even more, he waited for the attack.

With a small disapproving shake of his head, B. A. did as he was told. Handing his weapon to Face, he scowled before beginning.

"Hey, fool." The black man licked his lips, wondering what he could say next to calm the delirious pilot.

With amazement he noticed Murdock's head swivel toward the sound of his voice. There was a small muffled gasp of relief that puffed out from around the wooden bit. The pilot squinted in his direction and whimpered softly.

"Almost like he's havin' trouble seein' me, Colonel."

The man in front of him was an adult, a trained soldier, not a child. Yet B. A. suddenly felt as if he had to be as cautious with his speech and actions as if he were coaxing a frightened child to jump to safety into his arms from a window in a burning building.

"I know ya think ya see the enemy all around ya. Ya know I ain' gonna let them atcha, don't ya?" He took one step and then another toward the boulder where Murdock shivered, desperate and afraid.

"Ain' I always been there for ya, cleaned up after ya, them fights ya got yerself into back at base camp?" The Sergeant noticed the same thing Hannibal had observed. The pilot's muscles relaxed as his words sank in. Surprised again, he saw the pilot hesitate, then nod his head.

He took another careful step. "Took care o' some tough guys, you an' me together, didn't we? Them Marines only _thought_ they could handle us. They didn't know they was dealin' with the Dynamic Duo, did they?" He thought he heard a small snort of humor come from the bound man.

B. A. paused and thought a moment. "You know my Momma taught me not ta lie ta people, so I try not to. You ever know me ta lie ta you, Murdock?"

The look in the pilot's eyes warmed, became less fearful. The injured man shook his head slowly. A droplet beaded at the corner of one of his eyes before dribbling down his stubbled cheek. It may have been a tear but B. A. wasn't going to call it that. He knew Murdock wouldn't want him to say it was either.

He took the final step and cautiously swung himself down to sit beside the pilot. "Ain' nobody gonna hurt ya while I'm here. Ya b'lieve that, don'tcha?" The vigorous nod he received from the man beside him made his throat feel like he just swallowed a frog.

"Keep going, B. A." Hannibal's hoarse whisper encouraged him.

Those wide brown eyes were fully focused on him. The man's adrenaline-pumped breathing had slowed to a calmer cadence. B. A. didn't know where the pilot's mind was at. Couldn't even be certain what he remembered about the POW camp, the trek they had been on or their escape. The Sergeant had to make sure Murdock understood the need for caution.

"We hafta be real quiet because there's some folks lookin' for us, meanin' ta do us harm. You know how ta be quiet, don'tcha?" B. A. felt like he was shushing a small child. Maybe Murdock's current mental state was at that level. If what he was doing was working, he wasn't going to change it. Not until the pilot showed some sign he was aware of their present reality.

The somber chocolate eyes were too full of tears for them not to spill unchecked down Murdock's cheeks as he nodded. An uncomfortable grunt escaped from B. A.'s lips and he reached with his hand to pat the pilot's knee. "C'mon, fool. Don't do that. It's gonna be alright."

Another whimper came from Murdock, followed by a flinching movement away from the Sergeant's gesture of comfort. Too late, B. A. realized he had hurt the man again by touching the wrong knee.

"I forgot, man, I forgot. Sorry," the Sergeant muttered, raising his hands in front of him but not knowing exactly what he should do with them. He gave the four men surrounding them a helpless look, then stared back into the forgiving eyes beside him.

For the first time since he hit him to knock him out, B. A. saw Murdock's swollen jaw at close range. He noticed with a great deal of shame the heavy bruising that discolored the place where his fist connected. Where the rifle butts of the camp guards struck Murdock on the cheekbone, nose and temple there was an equal amount of angry blue bruises. The eye was no longer swollen shut but it had the same black and blue marks around it.

The Sergeant put one hand up to gently cover that side of the pilot's face. "Aw, shit, man. That looks like it hurts real bad."

The injured man shrugged, turned his face away.

"If ya promise not ta talk too loud, I can take that stick outta yer mouth. Ya gotta promise ta keep yer voice down around a whisper, okay?"

Murdock swung his gaze back to the Sergeant. B. A. hated the look of gratitude he saw in the injured man's expression. He deserved to be avoided, feared, for what he did earlier, not thanked for this simple action.

"Promise?" he repeated, forcing the lump in his throat to let the word through.

The pilot nodded, his features reflecting childlike innocence and trust. Tears were still glistening in his eyes. Reaching up, the Sergeant untied the cloth strip from one end of the bit and removed it from the other man's mouth.

He thought the pilot would have a rush of words ready to thank him, exuberant jibber-jabber he would have to squelch. Preparing himself to growl out some answer that would silence him, B. A. was surprised at what happened next.

Murdock leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes. Shivering violently, he whispered, "So tired."

He didn't open his eyes when the others quietly approached and stood, looking down at him. His protector was guarding him. That was all he needed.

Face was the first to position himself on the pilot's other side and feel his forehead. Only then did the injured man let his eyelids open halfway. Face drew his buddy into his arms and cushioned Murdock's head on his shoulder.

"Fever's worse, isn't it, Lieutenant." Hannibal frowned down at the man who only a few minutes before had tried to bite his hand. Murdock stared listlessly at the sparkling stream until his eyelids drooped again into sleep.

Face nodded absently. "He used up all his remaining energy trying to defend himself against us."

B. A. got to his feet and reclaimed the AK-47 from where the Lieutenant had propped it against a boulder. Without a word, he peered up the slope and stood between Murdock and the trail. After the coaxing he had just done, he couldn't look at the pilot without feeling pity. And if the pilot he knew wouldn't want to admit to crying, he wouldn't want to have B. A.'s continued sympathy either.

"You did a nice job, Sergeant," Hannibal clapped the black man on the back.

"Least I could do, Colonel." B. A.'s jaw muscles twitched with held back emotion. "It wasn't right, the way he was reacting. Like I was tryin' ta tell a li'l kid there wasn't no such thing as a boogieman." The Sergeant peered at his commanding officer. "It wasn't _right_. _He_ ain' right in the head," he emphasized. "I'm _still_ gonna be the one ta carry him outta here. No one else." He glared at Hannibal, as if to dare him to disagree with him or order him not to.

One by one, Heller picked up the snails he had dropped. Stashing them in a pile, he moved toward the pool to collect handfuls of green algae. He dumped it on top of a flat rock and looked intently along the fringe of the forest for large leaves to use as 'plates' for their meal. He returned with six bird's nest fern leaves from a clump near the ground.

With Murdock no longer a threat to run away or fight, Wilson replaced B. A. at his side. He leaned in close to his fellow pilot. "I want ya t' know, flyboy, I didn' mean anythin' by that thing I said 'bout makin' a pass at yer special gal if ya don' get back. Ya know I'm a happ'ly married fam'ly man." He watched to see if there was any flicker of acknowledgement in the other man's face. Seeing none, he sighed. "But I ain' gonna hafta tell 'er anythin'. We're _all_ gonna make sure ya get back home. _All_ o' us."

"He isn't awake, Wilson. He can't hear you." Face shifted Murdock to a more comfortable position and glanced at the Navy captain. He saw the unspoken concern he was feeling for his friend reflected in the other man's expression. They were both questioning the pilot's sanity.

"Yeah, he can. 'Cause he's still somewhere in there." The Navy pilot pointed at the Captain's head and then at his chest. He peered at the Lieutenant with determined intensity. "He'll come back out 'gain. Jus' give 'im time t' heal from . . . well . . . you know." Wilson bit his bottom lip as his words trailed off. Then he stumbled to his feet to empty his bowels in the bushes.


	23. Chapter 23 White Dogs Travel On

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 23 White Dogs Travel On

"Do I gotta?" Murdock whispered the words, focusing his childish pout on B. A.

"Ya gotta eat, li'l brother." The big Sergeant dangled a squishy piece of light brown meat between his fingers. He gave the pilot a withering glare contradictory to his encouraging words.

Murdock didn't seem to notice. He drew his entire face into a rebellious scowl. It rivaled that of any preschool boy being told he had to kiss his least favorite aunty on the cheek.

It wasn't _B. A's _idea to be the one to hand-feed the injured man but someone had to. The pilot had roused from his short nap in a panicked state asking for his big brother.

_Big brother? Me? _

It was eerie the way Murdock settled down as soon as the Sergeant reassured him of his presence. Since he seemed trapped in a childlike state, Hannibal decided the Captain should remain bound at least until the group was ready to move on. He was still unpredictable, a risk for running away.

_Can't be chasin' after the fool. Not in the jungle. Not with the enemy so close. _

And like the Lieutenant had said, they needed to move on soon.

But in the meanwhile, Murdock had to eat something and he seemed to trust B. A. most of all.

B. A. brought the bite of food to within an inch of the pilot's lips. "Eat," he growled.

Murdock shook his head vigorously. "Uh uh." Then he clamped his mouth shut in an unmoving firm line.

"It's real good," B. A. coaxed. His stomach did a lurch but he raised his head up anyway and let the snail morsel drop between his lips. He made himself think it was like a piece of buttered popcorn.

_Except it don't have that kind of taste or crunch. Maybe if I swallow it whole . . . _

He couldn't blame the injured man for refusing it. Escargot, as Face and Heller called it, was not his idea of good food. It _was, _however, what they had at the time in order to survive here in the jungle.

Face seemed to eat it without any trouble. The man wouldn't eat cooked rat meat back in the camp but had no trouble with this slimy uncooked stuff. B. A. shook his head.

_To each his own, I guess. Give me one of Momma's homemade pecan pies or slow-cooked pot roasts . . . that's an idea! _

"What's yer favorite food?" Just in time he stopped himself from adding the word 'fool' to the end of the question.

While Murdock was in this childlike frame of mind, he decided he wasn't going to push him away with something that sounded like an angry or demeaning response. If he did, they might see a reappearance of the catatonic zombie they had witnessed on the trail, the snarling defensive prisoner they had to subdue or maybe something worse.

_'Sides, he seems like he needs a big brother 'bout now. _

The curious brown eyes regarded him for a few seconds. "A Cap'n Bellybuster cheeseburger with the works. What else is there?"

_Figures. Ain' no way I'm gonna get him ta pretend this is that. _

B. A. sighed and broke another snail shell into pieces between two rocks.

"You ain' tryin' t' say that tastes as good as a Cap'n Bellybuster, are ya?" Murdock cocked his head to one side as the black man picked up the soft snail body and picked the shell pieces away from it.

"No. I said I won't lie to ya so I won't. _This_ ain' good as _that_." The black Sergeant gave the injured man a somber look. "But pretty soon if ya don' eat what's given ya, you'll get as skinny as a toothpick an' blow away. I ain' gonna letcha do that."

The pilot wrinkled his nose at the bit of snail in B. A.'s fingers and swallowed hard. "I don' gotta chew it, do I?"

"No, li'l brother. Ya don't hafta chew it. Ya just hafta eat it."

oooooo

After B. A. convinced Murdock that the green algae tasted better than spinach or collard greens and got him to consume his share of snail meat, Hannibal announced they were leaving.

The other four men hid the broken shell fragments under the streamside rocks and made sure the temporary rest area looked the way it was when they got there.

Kneeling in front of the pilot, Hannibal removed the strip of cloth from around his ankles. With B. A. in a squat facing away from Murdock, the Colonel and Face lifted the injured man onto his back and hooked his bound arms over his shoulders. Only when the Sergeant was securely holding onto the Captain did Hannibal untie Murdock's hands.

"I like horsey rides." The pilot grinned playfully as B. A. stood with his arms supporting the man's legs. "I'll be the Range Rider 'n' you can be Mister Ed . . 'r was that Silver?"

The Sergeant almost responded with a "Shut up, fool." Then he saw Face's worried expression and halfhearted smile as he heard Murdock's question. The black man forced himself not to growl at the pilot.

Squelching his temper, B. A. whispered, "Remember, I told ya to be real quiet. We start playin' like that an' those bad people'll find us an' hurt us."

He could almost feel the wide-eyed fear course through the pilot's body. Murdock's voice was a timid murmur. "I forgot. I'm sorry. I won' do it 'gain."

Face threaded his arm around Wilson's waist to support him as they walked. With Hannibal leading the way, they moved cautiously in an easterly path along the edge of the stream and toward its confluence with the Sông Bồ Đề.

The pilot's fever had not broken. The heat of Murdock's body along with the humid hot atmosphere made the Sergeant perspire heavily. Within a short distance, the back of B. A.'s shirt was soaked with sweat.

To their left, a Finlayson's squirrel sought out seeds and flowers to eat. The pilot was first to spot the orange-red animal skittering along a woody vine. It sat up on its haunches, showing off its cream-colored underbelly and letting its tail hang down from the branch on which it perched. B. A. felt Murdock's left arm grip him a little tighter around the neck as he leaned over the Sergeant's head and pointed it out.

"Look, Billy."

The black Sergeant flinched. From the moment he woke from his fever-induced nap, Murdock had been calling him Billy. He didn't remember the pilot ever mentioning he had a brother, let alone one called Billy but if it made him happy . . .

"I betcha if we stand still he'll talk t' me. Please, Billy? Can I talk t' him?" The pilot kept his voice low but the black man could hear the note of excitement in it.

"Don' have time for jibber-jabber, 'specially not squirrel jibber-jabber," the Sergeant hissed. Feeling Murdock sag a little in disappointment, B. A. reluctantly slowed his pace a little. "Okay, but make it quick." He sidestepped to allow Heller to pass them. As the Texan did, he put a cautionary finger to his lips and kept moving.

"Hey there, li'l guy," the pilot crooned, his flushed face turned to the small animal.

Amazed, the black man listened to Murdock create about three seconds worth of a quick chitter that sounded remarkably like that a squirrel would make. The squirrel on the vine flicked its tail and let out three barking chirps with each move. Moments later, it reached for a reddish-brown fruit and ate it, watching them intently.

"See? He's tellin' me those're ready t' eat. Couldja toss me down one o' them, muchacho?" The Captain murmured to the tree-dweller. When the squirrel didn't respond, Murdock smiled. "Aw, never mind. I got it." He reached out his hand as far as he could, his fingertips barely gripping one of the lower fruits.

"You don' know what that is. Ya don' know if it's safe ta eat or not." B. A. growled a warning.

"Sure I do," the pilot breathed. "Ficus Moraceae. It's a fig 'n' the color shows it's ripe. Want one?"

"If ya get one for me, hold onta it. I wanna see if you get sick from it 'fore I eat it." He felt the Captain shift his weight and stretch to get as many figs as he could reach. The injured man tucked them away in his shirt for later.

"Thanks, li'l guy. Have a good meal," Murdock whispered to the squirrel as B. A. began walking a bit faster to catch up with the rest of the POWs.

"No more stops like that, okay? We gotta keep up with the guys." The black man knew his scolding wouldn't do any good right now. The pilot's curiosity was boundless. In Murdock's current childlike state of innocence, B. A. felt like a father watching over a wandering toddler as he explored his world.

They caught up to Hannibal and the others within a minute. The silver-haired officer squatted at the edge of a patch of mud and examined several prints, from both humans and animals.

"No telling how long ago these human tracks were made. They may have been villagers getting water or it may be soldiers looking for us. The animal tracks look to be from wild boars. See how they dug up the soil, rooting for food?" As Hannibal muttered, he pointed. "Some of these other tracks may have been deer."

Face eased Wilson down to sit on the ground. "Rest for a few minutes. You look like you need it."

Ashen-faced, the Navy pilot nodded his thanks and closed his eyes.

Turning to the Colonel, Face asked, "So how much farther do we go before we accidentally run across someone who may or may not sound the alarm on us?"

Hannibal glanced up at Murdock and then shook his head as he surveyed the man's expression. The pilot's focus was on the fig he was consuming. He seemed oblivious to the conversation around him as he clung to B. A. with one arm tightly hugging the big man's shoulder and chest.

The Colonel gestured at him as he spoke. "I wish I could get some kind of idea from him as to what terrain we're heading into, how far we are from the river, what villages he remembers from his flights over this area."

Murdock, his fingers sticky with sugary juice, gave Hannibal an innocent look. He offered him a shy smile and one of the figs he had stored in his shirt before returning his attention to the fruit in his hand.

The Colonel gave the Army pilot a sympathetic pat on the back. "Thanks, son." He examined the fig and then the injured man's absorbed expression before looking at Wilson.

"You have any answers to those questions?" Hannibal bit into the fruit.

Wilson opened his eyes and shook his head. "Thing is, Colonel, this's a bit far inland from where I'm used t' flyin'. I do know that the river we're tryin' to get to leads t' Quán Hòa north o' Huế. But _he'd_ have a better idea o' the country we're headin' through, least 'til we got a li'l closer t' the sea."

"That's what I was afraid of." Hannibal sighed. "From the way Murdock was talking before, the Sông Bồ is one of the largest waterways in this area. He seemed to think we could get to it via smaller streams like this one."

"We'd better watch real close. No tellin' where the NVA are hidin' now they've been chased outta Huế," Heller added.

The Colonel frowned. "We'll continue to follow this downstream for a ways but it's smart to have someone scout ahead to make sure we don't come up against any surprises. Face and Heller, you two and I'll take turns doing that."

"Makes sense t' me." Heller nodded. Face agreed.

"Okay. I'll go first and scout out the next mile or so. Give me about a half hour, then follow me. If there's trouble ahead, I'll double back and let you know." Hannibal cast a serious look at each of the five men, his eyes finally settling on Murdock.

He touched the pilot's hand to make eye contact. "You do what B. A. . . . Billy . . . tells you and be very quiet."

Hannibal wasn't as relieved as he should have been when Murdock responded to the warning with a nod of understanding, a finger to his lips and a boyish grin.


	24. Chapter 24 White Dog Angel

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 24 White Dog Angel

When Murdock woke from his short nap back at the first rest stop, he knew Billy had found a way to come back to Earth as an angel.

He went to sleep, his head cushioned on someone's shoulder. He woke to the sight of someone huge standing in front of him, his back to him, guarding him against Pa and anyone else who would want to do him harm.

There were lots of that kind in grade school. Bullies like Hollis Latreque who stole his lunch, spit on him and waited for opportunities to do worse. Classmates who called him crazy and all manner of bad things.

_Jus' 'cause Pa's a drunk. Nobody but an angel can keep Pa, Hollis 'n' the others 'way._

Sure, Billy Alexander Murdock was dead, hadn't grown up past the age of two months. Add to that he was technically Murdock's younger brother . . .

_. . . 'n' if Pa hadn' done what he did, pushed Ma 'n' Billy down the stairs, he would o' been four years younger 'n I am. Then 'gain, angels never do get old 'n' die, do they? _

The pilot knew in his heart the muscular black man standing guard over him had to be Billy come back in the flesh. He puzzled over the dark skin color and why his baby brother would be sent back as a Negro. But then there were lots of things about God, Heaven and angels he didn't know.

_That white-haired man called 'im B. A., didn' he? B. A. Billy Alexander. That proves it, don' it? _

Billy had been giving him a piggyback ride when they saw the friendly squirrel in the tree. He was delighted when his brother slowed down so he could talk to the little animal and pick the ripe figs he noticed it eating. He made sure he gathered one for each of their traveling buddies and an extra one each for his brother and him.

He knew Billy was impressed with how he could imitate animal sounds. And knowing what that plant was called. He taught himself that. When you didn't have many friends you did a lot of reading and studying. His brain was full of all sorts of stuff like that, stuff few others cared about.

They caught up to the others and then they stopped. The white-haired man gazed up at him as he hugged his angel brother around the shoulders. He seemed to think H. M. had some kind of special information to tell them all but he didn't ask him what he knew.

_Stuff 'bout terrain, villages. 'N' he thinks I can fly. _

Murdock almost had to snicker at that. He couldn't fly 'cause he didn't have wings, but he wondered if Billy could, if he had angel wings to fly with. He woulda asked but all of them were so serious and his angel brother was listening to their conversation like it was real important.

The white-haired man was friendly, like the squirrel, and Billy seemed to like him too, so he gave him one of the figs he had picked. But the man seemed sad when he looked up at him and so did the others with him.

_But I'm used t' folks lookin' at me strange. _

So he went back to eating the fig and waiting for all of them to keep on walking. The friendly man told him he had to be quiet and obey Billy. H. M. gave him his nicest smile and put a finger to his lips to let him know he understood.

_I'm good at bein' quiet. When I am, Pa sometimes can't find me at all. Makes 'im real mad 'n' then the beatin's worse if he finds me. But sometimes I do it so good, he gives up 'fore he can. _

When the white-haired man went on ahead, Billy eased him down off his back. All of the figs tucked in his shirt fell to the ground and he stared down at them in dismay.

"There ya go, li'l brother. How's that leg of yours?"

He tried to put some of his weight on it. The shot of pain all up and down it made his lower lip tremble.

_Don' want Billy t' think I'm a sissy. _

So he bit the inside of his cheek until he knew he wouldn't cry. Only then did he answer.

"It hurts. I won' hafta go t' the hospital, will I?" He couldn't help whining. Hospitals were icky. Ma died in a hospital. Besides, every time he was in the hospital they gave him shots that made him sleepy. It was to take away the pain from Pa's pounding on him.

_But when I fall 'sleep, I can' protect myself 'gainst Pa. I gotta stay 'wake, keep watchin'. _

Billy stared at him for a few seconds before answering. "Ya might have to if we get outta here."

H. M. scowled and crossed his arms. Sticking his lower lip out and tucking his chin down so it was almost on his chest, he caught bright-colored movement on the ground from the corner of his eye.

His attention strayed to what caused it and he heard Billy sigh behind him. He limped over to the patch of mud. His right knee ached something horrible and he couldn't bend it at all. He fell onto his left side when he lost his balance trying to kneel.

_Least from down here I can see 'em better. _

Six sets of wings slowly opened and closed before his eyes. Metallic blue on the upper side, the butterflies showed cream and fawn colored undersides. Each hind wing had a small black tail.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he watched their brilliantly colored wings fold and unfold. There was something about things that could fly that fascinated him. He found himself humming a tune.

He'd learned it from one of the boys who'd been to Scout camp. The other kids laughed at him when he sang it on the playground. He frowned as he tried to think of the words. Softly, he began singing them to himself.

_I'm an acorn, small and round  
Lying on the cold, cold ground  
Everyone walks over me  
That is why I'm cracked you see. _

The first time he sang those words in front of Gramma, she got the strangest look on her face. She demanded to know who taught him that song and then told him those weren't the right words. She taught him new words.

_Coca cola came to town  
Pepsi cola shot 'em down  
Doctor Pepper fixed him up  
Now we all drink 7-Up._

Those words sounded better. They were funnier than the other words. Gramma sure was smart.

Billy knelt beside him and touched him on the shoulder. "Whatcha lookin' at?"

"Butterflies. Ain' they somethin'?" He cupped his chin in his hand and smiled.

"Yeah. They sure are." But Billy's voice sounded funny. It was kind of like Grampa's voice when H. M. came into the house bloody and bruised from a visit with his father. He always insisted he got hurt falling from the hayloft. It was what Pa called a cover story. If he didn't tell it that way, the next time would be worse.

Seconds later, he turned onto his back and frowned up into his angel brother's face. "Was I too loud?"

"You do need ta be quieter or the bad guys'll come hurt us. An' you don't want that ta happen, do ya?"

He swallowed hard and shook his head. Then he beamed up at the black face. "I sure am glad God sent ya here t' keep me safe, Billy. You're the bestest brother."

He wasn't sure but it almost seemed like Billy felt even worse when he told him that. H. M. had always been good at sensing when people were hurting inside.

Billy nodded and stood up again. "You keep on watchin' those butterflies for a while. I'll give ya another piggyback ride when it's time ta go, okay?"

H. M. leaned on his elbow again and focused on the blue-winged creatures. "Okay."

_I wonder if there's any way God'll let Billy stay here with me as an angel. Seein' 'im sure beats jus' hearin' his voice in my head. Even if he is a black angel._

When he talked to Billy, everything was alright with the world. Billy told him stories when he was recovering from another of Pa's beatings. Made the hospital stays pass quicker when no one could be there and he was all alone.

He noticed Billy talking to the one he called Face. Once in a while they looked at him with worried eyes and unsmiling expressions. The one called Wilson was eyeing him, too. So was Heller.

_I guess I'd better shut up. They ain' happy with me. But I didn' do nothin' wrong. _

They were giving him the same kind of looks that he saw Gramma and Grampa give him when they thought he didn't notice. The looks they had the times when he talked to his brother out loud and one of them overheard.

And after all those times that the school sent him home because one of the bullies had stuck a wad of chewed gum in his shaggy brown hair or, even worse, tied him to a tree near the school yard and beat on him. He tried never to talk out loud to Billy when anyone was around after that. And he tried his best to stay away from the bullies. He was a fast runner.

But now Billy and all of them were giving him those same looks.

So he would try to be on his best behavior and not let his imagination or curiosity get the better of him. He didn't want God to take Billy away from him. Not now.

oooooo

"It's creepy, Faceman. Fool thinks I'm some sorta big brother. He mention anythin' ta you 'bout a brother called Billy?" B. A. peered at the pilot and caught his worried frown before turning his attention back to the Lieutenant.

Face followed his gaze and shook his head. "Not in all the time we've talked. He has grandparents back home and a high school sweetheart but that's all he's talked about. He keeps his family life, his background, kind of private."

"I don' know how much more of his jibber-jabber and fool things he does I can take 'fore I say somethin' I shouldn't. He's actin' like he's about five or six years old." B. A. ran a hand along the side of his face in frustration. "I wanna help him but it's gettin' ta be annoying."

"Well, I can't carry him. You know that." Face sighed and put his hands on his hips as he scrutinized Murdock from where he stood. "He hasn't let any of the rest of us except maybe Hannibal near since he fell asleep the last time. It's like he doesn't remember us." The Lieutenant glanced down at the figs the pilot had dropped earlier and bent to pick three of them up. "Maybe if you introduced me to him and I shared one of these with him, he'll trust me enough so I can help you take care of him. Give you a breather once in a while."

B. A. took one of the fruits from Face's hands and scowled at it. "Guess it's worth a try."

oooooo

Hannibal kept his eyes and ears open as he paralleled the stream. Even then, he was unprepared when he parted the leaves ahead of him and spied the NVA soldier filling his canteen in the swifter waters. Quietly, the Colonel let the ferns settle back into place and then carefully picked his way back the way he came.


	25. Chapter 25 White Dog Crossing

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 25 White Dog Crossing

B. A. approached Murdock with a reddish-brown fig in his hand and stopped in his tracks. Face halted as well, seeing the same thing the black man did.

The pilot had fallen asleep, his head pillowed in the crook of his left arm. The heavy bruising along the right side of his face seemed subdued in the shade of the jungle around them. His left knee was bent and his back rounded slightly. The Sergeant noted with concern that the stiff right knee was swollen to the size of his own muscular upper bicep.

The butterflies continued to fan the humid air with their metallic blue wings.

_Fool looks like a li'l kid fallen asleep watchin' for Santa Claus. Almost hate ta wake 'im. He needs sleep in order ta heal up but I gotta make sure Face can help take care of him if I can't. _

"That was fast. One minute all of his attention's on those butterflies and the next, he's out of it again," Face murmured behind him as the black man hesitated. "We'd better check to see how his temperature is."

"No need. He's been burnin' up ever since I been carryin' him." B. A.'s expression softened as he watched the pilot frown in his sleep. A shudder passed through the lean body and a small whimper escaped Murdock's lips.

"Whatever he's dreamin' about can't be good," the Sergeant muttered.

He knelt beside the sleeping man and placed a calloused hand on his forehead. Glancing up at the Lieutenant, he shook his head. "Like I said. Burnin' up. Ain' no wonder he fell 'sleep again."

Without opening his eyes, the pilot reached blindly for the hand that touched him. His fingers curled around the palm and pressed the hand to his chest before relaxing once more. He sighed, his features becoming peaceful again.

B. A. peered over at Wilson. The gaunt Navy pilot watched the whole scene through glassy eyes. He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace of pain.

_At least Wilson's able ta walk. But he ain' doin' all that much better 'n the fool. _

The Sergeant acknowledged the smile with a quick nod. To the Lieutenant he muttered, "Don't know if we're gonna make it outta here, Faceman. Six escaped POWs leave a big 'nough footprint for someone ta follow. Four plus two injured, feverish an' needin' help ta walk? I don' know, man."

The black Sergeant cast a worried look at the Lieutenant. Face frowned down at him, his expression betraying his mixed emotions.

"What are you suggesting, B. A.? Just what do you think we should do? Leave them?" he hissed with a ferocity the black man rarely saw him exhibit. His hands balled into fists.

Even as he mulled the questions in his mind, B. A. knew a decision would have to be made soon. Groups of two or three at the most stood a much better chance of evading the enemy, especially when they had to do so on the enemy's home turf. As he turned his attention back to Murdock to avoid the rage and anguish he felt coming from Face, he gritted his teeth.

_Faceman knows it, too. Just doesn't wanna think 'bout it 'til it comes to that. Hannibal's gonna hafta make the decision. None of the rest of us can. _

He wasn't prepared for the iron grip the Lieutenant placed on his shoulder. "Well? What do you think we should do, Sergeant? What's your great idea?"

_He's gonna force the issue? _

Taking in a breath, B. A. paused to control his temper before speaking. "I got no quarrel with you, man. I was just sayin'. So take yer hand off me."

The two men glared at each other. A soft whine from the sleeping pilot broke their silent argument and turned their focus back to him. His muscles tensed up as though he was readying himself to run away from something.

With a brilliant blue flash, the butterflies wafted into the air as a group and fluttered away into the canopy above. Moments later, Hannibal parted the ferns beside the muddy patch of ground and gave the two men an icy frown.

"Trouble, gentlemen?"

Neither Face nor B. A. answered him. Hannibal's grim expression and abrupt tone told them he had seen something ahead and he did not have time for disagreements.

"None at all, Colonel," Face muttered.

With a slight frown, Hannibal glanced down at the pilot and bent to feel his forehead. He shook his head and straightened.

_Man looks tired, like everythin's weighin' on him heavy._

He looked at B. A. and then at each of the others. "Get ready to move out. We have to get to the other side of this stream. We can't move forward."

Heller nodded and bent to help Wilson to his feet. The Navy pilot swayed as he stood. Heller secured the man's arm around his shoulders but Wilson still drooped beside him.

B. A. placed a massive hand on Murdock's shoulder and gently shook it. "Time ta wake up, li'l brother."

Another small whimper escaped from Murdock's lips before the lids opened and he stared up at B. A. squatting beside him.

"Billy?" He brought shaky hands up to his face and rubbed at his clouded brown eyes.

The Sergeant nodded. "Gotta start movin' b'fore the bad guys find us."

"Pa ain' left yet?" The brows furrowed in alarm and Murdock attempted to sit up much too quickly. His face paled and he clutched at B. A.'s upper arms to prevent himself from collapsing. "I can't take no more, Billy. Ya gotta protect me."

B. A. suddenly got an uncomfortable knot in his stomach with what the pilot seemed to be saying. But there was no time to try to figure it out. Hannibal said they had to move.

"My friend Face here's gonna help me get you to your feet. Alright?" The Sergeant swallowed as the injured man nodded, his frightened eyes searching B. A.'s face for reassurance.

_Why's the fool gotta look at me like that? I decked him. How can he trust me so much? _

"Faceman, you get on his left side an' I'll take his right. Now ya gotta try ta help push yourself up with that left leg of yours, li'l brother. Okay?" B. A. shifted position and waited for the Lieutenant to squat on the other side and gently place Murdock's arm over his shoulders. "Ya ready, Faceman?"

The Lieutenant gave the black man a short quick nod. B. A. positioned Murdock's other arm around his shoulder and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ya gotta bend that left knee, get some of your weight on it so Faceman ain' deadliftin' ya on that side. Ready, li'l brother?"

"I guess." The pilot's voice wavered.

"On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!" Face and B. A. rose at the same time. Murdock shakily drew his left leg up under him. As he put weight on the stiff right leg, he arched his back and stifled a groan.

"Hurts bad, Billy. Hurts so bad." B. A. could hear the dammed up pain behind the rasped words and tightly squeezed eyes but he couldn't stop to comfort the pilot.

"I know it does, I know it does. Listen. I'm gonna stand in front of ya. I want ya ta wrap yer arms around my neck just like before an' I'll carry ya. Got that?" The Sergeant bent slightly at the knees and waited for the thin arms to snake over his shoulders before grasping the injured man's legs and standing up.

As soon as B. A. had Murdock in position, Hannibal led the way to the stream. The Sergeant felt the heat of the pilot's body radiate through both of their black shirts.

"Hang back out of sight and let me cross first. Heller, you watch our backs. As soon as I'm on the other side, B. A., you bring Murdock. Then you and Wilson, Face. Then you, Heller." Without another word, the Colonel waded into the water and slowly made his way across. At its deepest the water came to the middle of his thighs.

He scrambled over rocks on the opposite shore and waved for B. A. to come across. The black man watched Hannibal take a hidden position among the ferns to watch for the enemy. Shifting the pilot's weight on his back, he stepped into the current.

"Hold on tight. I don't wanna get wet 'cause ya squirm 'round."

The injured man mumbled something and rested his head on the black man's shoulder. The action reminded B. A. of a time when he gave a weary three-year-old cousin a piggyback ride during a visit to an amusement park.

Some of the rocks were slimy with algae. The Sergeant felt his foot slip twice on the way over but he managed to prevent himself and Murdock from falling into the waters.

Face and Wilson were not so fortunate.

Halfway across, the Navy man's face paled even more than it had been. He blacked out, slipping from the Lieutenant's grasp and into the deepest part of the stream. Completely submerged, the coolness of the water revived him and he emerged from the waters sputtering.

With Face's hands gripping his arm, he struggled to stand. Heller hurried to help, slinging the AK-47 onto his shoulder. Between Face and Heller, they got Wilson to his feet and half-dragged him up into the ferns on the other side of the stream.

As soon as all of them were together again, Hannibal picked his way through the dense foliage to get several yards away from the water and from the view of anyone on the other side.

"That wasn't exactly the smoothest maneuver we ever made."

B. A. glanced at the Colonel, surprised at the comment, wondering if it was intended as a joke. The leader's gaze was on Wilson, still dripping from his unintended bath but fully conscious now.

Then his attention shifted to Murdock. The pilot had fallen asleep again, the flushed unbruised side of his face nestled close to the Sergeant's neck. The man's slow even breathing told B. A. that much. That, and Hannibal's weary expression as he shouldered his AK-47 and turned away, his jaw twitching with emotion.

_He's wonderin' if the crazy man's gonna make it outta here. An' if he don't, Colonel's gonna blame himself. _

When Hannibal finally spoke, his voice did not reflect any of what B. A. knew he had been feeling. "We'll have to stay hidden if we continue to parallel the stream. An NVA soldier was filling his canteen a short distance ahead of us. Same as before. We send out a scout, the rest follow about a half hour later unless there's trouble. The three of us trade off."

Hannibal scrutinized Wilson before adding, "And each time we wait, I want you and Murdock to rest. We'll get you both back safely but you have to reserve your strength just in case you need it later."

B. A. took encouragement from his CO's words.

_Man ain' given up on them. An' what Hannibal says, he tries his best ta deliver. _

"No problem there, Colonel," the Navy man grunted. "Not much good t' ya'll right now but get ridda this dysentery 'n' I can fight 'longside the best o' them."

The corners of the Colonel's mouth twitched upward in a sad smile.

"Heller, you're it. Stay out of sight and go about a half hour upstream. If you see anything, report back." Hannibal watched as the man quietly picked his way through the ferns and vines and disappeared from view.

The Colonel turned his attention to Face and his Sergeant. "Help B. A. make Murdock comfortable. Then I want to talk to both of you in private."

The black man let the Lieutenant carefully take the Captain into his arms and lower him to the ground. A grim reflective look on his face, Hannibal waited a short distance from where Wilson rested. Whatever the Colonel had on his mind, B. A. had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.


	26. Chapter 26 White Dogs Disagree

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 26 White Dogs Disagree

"Do you mind telling me why the two of you were at each other's throats when I came back from scouting ahead?" Hannibal crossed his arms, expecting an answer. His chilled look swept over each man in turn.

B. A. frowned and stared resolutely down at the ground. If anyone was going to respond, he hoped it would be Face.

_I don't wanna be the one ta say it out loud. _

The Lieutenant was not in a talkative mood. His gaze wandered to Murdock. The pilot lay curled up on his left side, shivering, his eyes closed. Hannibal shot a look in the same direction, his mouth set in a firm line.

"Well?"

The Sergeant took a huge breath of air and released it slowly. His dark eyes caught Face's warning glance.

_Don't care. Needs ta be put out in the open even if Faceman wants ta deny the facts. But how do I say it? _

Neither man spoke for several seconds. The fast-paced _wheet-wheet_ calls of laughingthrushes and the soft chatter of fulvettas hidden in the thick vegetation around the small clearing filled the air instead.

The black Sergeant scowled at the Lieutenant, then muttered, "The six of us're makin' a trail any half-blind NVA soldier can follow. An' we can't move very fast with two of us sick or hurt. That's all."

_There. I don't like tellin' it like it is but that's the truth. _

Hannibal paused so long before speaking that B. A. regretted bringing the subject up in the first place. He dared a glance at the older man and saw him swipe his sleeve across his face. A weary sigh escaped his mouth.

_Colonel ain't gonna give up, is he? _

Face grasped Hannibal's forearm. "How often have you said to us that you'll never leave a man behind? Murdock and Wilson won't make it if they get recaptured because we moved on without them. You know that as well as I do."

The Colonel tugged his arm away from the Lieutenant's grip. All three men gazed over to where the two pilots rested a short distance from one another.

Murdock stirred fitfully in his sleep. As Wilson crawled on his hands and knees over to his fellow pilot, Hannibal considered what B. A. and Face said.

The Navy man removed the shirt he wore, still wet from his immersion in the stream, and gently bathed Murdock's face with it. The sleeping man murmured something and sank back into a deeper slumber. His energy sapped, Wilson stretched out on the ground beside him and let his eyelids droop and close.

"Wilson's still able to walk but not very fast. He has to take breaks along the way. The good thing is he's coherent and thinking clearly. That may change as the dysentery worsens. Murdock . . . " Hannibal shook his head. "Murdock can't put any weight on that knee, and we can't adequately take care of those infected wounds on his legs. We all know what we observed as far as his mental state. If he starts yelling or singing loudly, we'll be found. He won't do it on purpose. It'll just happen." The Colonel stared down at the ground. "We may have to consider trying to make it to safety in two groups of three."

B. A. didn't want to look at either Face or Hannibal. He knew the Lieutenant wondered which of them would have to go with Heller and Wilson if they were to be split up that way. He would want to go with Murdock.

It was a tough judgment call Hannibal would have to make. The Sergeant knew every fiber of Hannibal's being wanted to keep them all together, to ensure all of them made it to safety.

_Almost wish I woulda been wrong about what I said. Colonel sees what we're up against even if Faceman don't. _

"But for right now, we all stay together," Hannibal added in a determined voice.

"For now," Face bleakly echoed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"And when that decision has to be made, I'll be the one to make it, Lieutenant. And you both will follow my orders." The muscles in Hannibal's jaw twitched as he watched the two pilots sleep.

B. A. rested a hand on the Colonel's shoulder. "You an' me been together a while over here, Colonel. I know you'll do that only if there ain' no other choice."

"Let's hope I don't have to make that decision." Hannibal looked toward the undergrowth where Heller had gone on ahead. "Better get moving again."

As the Colonel walked over to where Murdock and Wilson rested, both B. A. and Face noted the weariness in Hannibal's stride.

oooooo

Remaining close to the stream meant the foliage on either side was thicker and harder to traverse. The rampant jungle growth slowed their progress, but to ensure they did not get lost they had to rely on the stream to direct them to their destination.

Minutes after they started walking, Murdock roused from his sleep. Lifting his head from the Sergeant's shoulder, he stared with glassy eyes at the bird's-nest ferns, orchids and vines adorning the palm trees around them.

"I don' think we're in Kansas anymore, Billy," he murmured.

He started to hum to himself, letting his head rest on the big man's shoulder again. As he softly sang the song, his words slurred.

_There once was a tree  
A pretty li'l tree  
Th' prettiest li'l tree  
That ya ever did see_

_Oh, th' tree in a hole  
'N' th' hole in th' ground  
'N' th' green grass grew all 'roun', all 'roun'  
'N' th' . . . green . . .grass . . .gr . . ._

Just as B. A. was about to shush him, he drifted to sleep again. The Sergeant shifted the pilot's weight on his back and hoped when they stopped Murdock would be himself again. It didn't matter how irritating that meant he would be.

Heller returned to them when they had traveled a little over a mile downstream.

"Report, Lieutenant." Hannibal's first words to the scout were terse.

As the Navy co-pilot spoke, the Colonel nodded to B. A. to lower Murdock to the ground. With Face helping him, they made the pilot as comfortable as they could without waking him unnecessarily. As careful as they were, Murdock moaned quietly as his right leg touched the ground.

Wilson took the two canteens from Hannibal and Heller and carefully picked his way to the stream. After refilling them, he wet down a piece of cloth torn from his shirt. When he returned, he used it to cool Murdock's feverish face and then wiped away his own sweat with it.

Heller found a place among the ferns to rest. "No sight o' the enemy. No villages I could see. 'Nother mile up's a stream that feeds into this one." He swatted at the tiny gnats that swarmed for a few moments around his face and leaned back on his elbows.

Glancing over at Wilson, he scanned his friend's cadaverous frame for a moment. Concern reflected in his eyes as he asked, "How ya doin', buddy?"

The Navy Captain grimaced and clutched at his belly. "'S well as can be 'spected. All my food comes out either o' two ends 'fore my stomach's got a fightin' chance at it."

"Well, once we get back 'n' they getcha back on the mend 'n' eatin' real food, I'll hafta see if I can find ya a whole rack o' Texas style barbequed ribs." Heller frowned as he remembered something. He squinted up at Hannibal. "Speakin' o' food, Colonel, I located some more o' those fig trees 'n' some bananas up 'head o' us. Be a good chance t' grab a bite."

"About how far ahead?"

"Halfway t' where the other stream joins this one."

Hannibal nodded. "I guess we'd better get moving then. B. A., get Murdock ready to go. Heller, you've got Wilson."

The Colonel handed Face the AK-47. "You're on point, Lieutenant. When we get to the fruit, we'll gather as much as we can carry. Our next rest stop will be where those streams meet."

Between Heller and B. A., they managed to wake Murdock. It wasn't enough to force him to open his eyes but enough to elicit protests from him.

"Jus' a few more minutes, Billy. Please? I'm so tired," the pilot mumbled as the two men lifted him to a sitting position.

"Up we go, li'l brother." B. A. tried to be as gentle as he could as Heller helped him bring Murdock to his feet. Even then, pain crumpled Murdock's face and a tiny whimper came out.

If Hannibal hadn't taken B. A.'s place and helped Heller position the pilot on the Sergeant's back, the injured man would have collapsed back onto the ground.

"You hold on tightly to Billy, son. We don't want you to fall and hurt yourself more than you are now." The Colonel rested his hand on one of the pilot's hands and waited until he got a weak nod from Murdock. Only then did he take his place behind Wilson and Heller. He noticed throughout the entire process, the injured man had not opened his eyes at all.

Face had already disappeared into the ferns and shrubs by the time the rest of the group was ready to head out.

As the pilot hugged the black man's neck, he hummed softly to himself. Like a sleepy toddler, he contentedly nestled his head on B. A.'s shoulder.

"What's he singin' now, B. A.?" Wilson hissed as another abdominal spasm made him stagger slightly.

"'London Bridge Is Fallin' Down'." The Sergeant scowled at the choice of tunes. He did not dare look back at Wilson and Heller or the Colonel bringing up the rear.

"Hope he don' think you're the bridge. You fall, we'd have a hard time gettin' ya back up," Heller commented.

"I don' plan on fallin'. Not with him the shape he's in. Hurt 'im even worse if I did." B. A. hoisted the pilot further up on his back and kept his eyes on the path immediately ahead of his feet. A few moments later he added, "Man's puttin' out 'nough heat ta warm a pot o' coffee."

"His fever's risen." Hannibal whispered. "We'll have to look at those leg wounds again at the next full rest stop. And Wilson, you let us know if you have to take a break. Heller, I'll help you make sure we don't leave a trail for them to follow."

Each time Wilson stopped to vomit or release his bowels, whoever was helping him covered it up as much as possible to hide the trail. It took a little more time and energy to do that but it was essential.

Murdock's humming soon trailed off and he slept peacefully until they reached the confluence of the two streams.


	27. Chapter 27 White Dogs Part Ways

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 27 White Dogs Part Ways

Even when he was being extra quiet with his movements, a big man like B. A. tended to make some noise as he moved through the jungle.

Carrying Murdock piggyback made his footsteps fall that much heavier.

And Murdock was not hanging on tightly. He couldn't. Not when he drifted in and out of consciousness so much. That made B. A.'s job more difficult.

Without meaning to, the Sergeant alerted Face to their approach well before the Lieutenant spied him on the faint trail leading to the confluence of the streams.

B. A. stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw that Face swung the AK-47 in his direction.

"It's us, Faceman," the Sergeant announced in as low of a whisper as he was able to muster.

Letting out the breath he had held since hearing the fern fronds and leaves rustle behind him, the Lieutenant relaxed.

_Good thing I didn't fire as soon as I heard that. I could have wounded or killed them both if I hadn't waited to sight them in before shooting. _

He kept the weapon at the ready as he scanned in a full circle around him for the enemy and waited for all of his companions to emerge from the brush. Then he turned his attention back to the black man and his injured charge.

_Murdock. I wonder how he's doing. _

He carefully scrutinized his best friend from a distance. With closed eyes, Murdock drowsily murmured something to no one in particular. His face crumpled with pain as B. A. cautiously shifted the pilot's weight on his back.

_Has the respite from walking helped him at all? _

One thing was obvious and caused Face a lot of concern. Murdock's right leg no longer bent at the knee, if the way the black man carried him was any indication. The leg stuck out at B. A.'s side as straight as if it had been encased in a cast from mid-thigh to ankle.

_It might have to be in plaster for a while when we get back. Who knows how badly the guards injured it when they were beating the crap out of him? And before we move on, Hannibal's going to have to take another look at that knee and the open wounds on his legs. If Hannibal doesn't, I will. _

The Sergeant noticed Face's worry and shook his head. "He ain' no better, Faceman. Wakes up an' either cries quiet-like on my neck like a li'l kid that's been beat up or hums himself back ta sleep. An' it don't feel like his fever's gone down any. Here, help get 'im down off my back and to somewhere he can rest."

Moving to a position behind B. A., Face wrapped his arms under Murdock's armpits and around his chest and pulled backward gently. The pilot's own bony arms clutched briefly at the muscular Sergeant's shoulders.

"Billy, don' let 'im take me 'way from you," he rasped before he fell back into Face's embrace, too weak to fight. As soon as his right foot hit the ground and jolted his leg, he let out a gasp of pain but didn't struggle against the Lieutenant's hold on him.

_For a guy as tall and lanky as he is, Murdock hardly weighs anything anymore. If we ever get out of here . . . _

The Lieutenant angrily rejected that thought as soon as it came to his mind.

_If? What kind of thinking's that? We're all going to make it out of here. Hannibal won't allow it to be any other way. I won't either._

"Let's lay 'im over here under these ferns. Keep him hidden jus' in case. Ground seems a little softer. Less rocky." B. A. pointed with one hand.

Wilson brushed a few smaller rocks and twigs away from the spot. "Hope that's a bit more comfy for 'im," he mumbled, half-straightening before another cramp shot through his abdomen and made him stagger.

When Face gave him a thumbs-up and a nod, the Navy pilot shrugged and winced with his own pain. "Bes' I could do. Wish I could o' done more."

The Sergeant carefully raised Murdock's legs to waist level to enable Face and him to carry the injured man to his temporary bed. The pilot whimpered in his delirium as they moved him.

As soon as Murdock was lying on the ground, Face relinquished his weapon to Heller. He knelt beside his friend, took the injured man's hand in his and felt him shiver.

"God, B. A. He's like a hot burner on a stove." The young blonde officer tore Murdock's right pant leg away just above the knee and gave the lower section to the Sergeant. "Here. Get this good and wet and bring it back. We'd better start on those leg wounds and try to get his temperature to come down somehow."

Hannibal edged past Wilson where he sat, patting the Navy pilot encouragingly on the shoulder as he did. He handed both canteens to B. A. as he walked past. The Sergeant glanced back at Murdock and Face and then at the Colonel, his eyes somber and uneasy. "He ain' lookin' too good, Hannibal."

"Which one, Sergeant? Face or Murdock?" He meant the question to lighten the mood and remove some of the worry from the black man's expression.

B. A. scowled and muttered, "Both. Face looks like he's givin' Murdock last rites an' ready ta kill someone if they tell him ta move, an' Murdock . . . " He shook his head without finishing and walked away. His shoulders were hunched a little more than Hannibal ever remembered seeing them.

Turning back to the two men on the ground, the Colonel forced himself to sound businesslike. "Report, Lieutenant."

Beginning the process of turning Murdock on his belly and pulling the black pants down for a better look at the leg injuries, Face glowered at the Colonel.

_Dammit, do we have to do this right now, Hannibal? _

Then he realized they did.

_We all have to know what we might be walking into. Or what may be heading toward us._

The Lieutenant shook his head and stared downstream. "I thought I heard some faraway muffled gunshots in the direction where we're going. I don't know for sure what kinds of guns. Could have been an M-60 and some smaller caliber rifles from the sound of it. As far as any signs of the enemy, I have seen and heard absolutely nothing closer than that."

Heller stood to the side with the AK-47. Even though he peered at the undergrowth that pushed its way to the edge of the water, he occasionally cast an anxious glance at first Wilson and then Murdock. He opened his mouth to ask about Murdock's condition and then closed it again and looked away.

The Colonel took a position a distance from him with the other gun, keeping his eyes on the area opposite that which Heller guarded. He seemed satisfied with Face's answer and asked in a subdued voice laced with concern, "How's it look?"

Before the Lieutenant could reply, B. A. returned from the stream with the cloth dripping water. He brought both refilled canteens with him and gave one to Wilson.

"Thanks, Sergeant." The Navy Captain uncapped it and drank gratefully before swiping his mouth with his sleeve and handing it to Heller.

"Colonel!" B. A. quickly crouched on the other side of the resting pilot and peered at the festering leg wounds and swollen knee. Face had never seen B. A. with so much worry for Murdock evident in his expression.

Hannibal knelt and set his weapon on the ground beside him.

The swelling had grown much worse around the knee. The skin encircling it had turned a dark fiery red with blood and pus under the surface. Three of the deeper leg wounds were re-infected. Faint red streaks were beginning to radiate up and down the leg from them.

Murdock was wide awake. He gripped B. A.'s hand so hard the mechanic almost winced. Tears streamed from the corners of the injured man's eyes as he took in short harsh breaths through his mouth. His eyes rolled wildly at the others and then settled on the black man with a desperate glassy fervor.

"My leg's on fire, Billy. It's burnin' all up 'n' down it. Ya gotta put the fire out. _Please_!" he whined.

Face swabbed his friend's forehead with the wet cloth and muttered a curse under his breath. "What're we going to do, Hannibal?"

He shifted his attention to the Colonel when there was no immediate answer. The older man's grim expression told Face he had come to a decision about something.

_Whatever it is, if we can get Murdock and Wilson back to base alive, I'll do it. _

The steely blue eyes regarded the Lieutenant's anguished look for a minute.

"We're going to have to split up into two groups. One group of three will head out after having something to eat. The other group will follow about an hour to two hours behind them. We keep going with fewer stops. We stay along the stream so whichever group reaches safety first can direct a search party toward the other group."

"Hannibal! No!" Even as Face protested, he knew it was the wisest course of action.

_The only thing that remains to be said is who goes with which group. _

"Lieutenant, it's the only way. You see how bad this is. I'm going to have to drain some of the fluid from around this knee. That's going to take a little time. If I don't, the skin will crack open and he'll have a more extensive infection than he has now. He could lose his leg to it. Do you want that on your conscience?"

Face gripped Murdock's hand tightly and stared down at the ground. The realization that he may never see his best friend alive again struck him hard.

Hannibal touched him on the forearm to get his attention. As the Lieutenant swung his tormented gaze up into the Colonel's blue eyes he saw how difficult the decision had been for him to make.

_I still have to try. _

"There's no other way?"

In response the Colonel squeezed Face's forearm and shook his head.

_Of course not. _

Face swallowed hard. "I know B. A. has to stay with Murdock. But who's going with Wilson?"

The older man's solemn gaze focused back on the delirious pilot, avoiding eye contact with his Lieutenant. Hannibal was silent for several seconds. "B. A. and I'll make sure Murdock doesn't give up. You make sure Heller and Wilson get back alive, too."

_No. _

"Better get your men fed and ready to move, Lieutenant," Hannibal murmured as he readied the knife to make an incision in the skin near the side of Murdock's knee. Face stood and swayed as he stared down into the injured man's uncomprehending brown eyes. As Hannibal cut into the flesh and began to squeeze the blood and pus from the swollen knee, Murdock moaned once and fell silent. His eyelids fluttered shut as he fell unconscious.

_This may be about the last time we see each other and he doesn't even know I exist. _

With trembling hands, the Lieutenant took some of the figs and bananas and portioned them out to the two men he was to lead. Heller and Wilson reluctantly ate. None of them were very hungry anymore.

A half hour later, Face knelt beside his best friend and took his limp hand in his. For a minute Hannibal allowed him to whisper his goodbyes and whatever else he needed to say into his friend's ear.

Then the Lieutenant stood, his sullen eyes focused on his commanding officer. "You and B. A. take really good care of him. I just told him I'd buy him a Pro Hockey penny arcade game when we get back to the States and I intend to keep my promise."

Without another word or glance back, Face shouldered the AK-47 and led Wilson and Heller downstream and away from Hannibal's group.


	28. Chapter 28 White Dog Dreams and Memories

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 28 White Dog Dreams and Memories

He remembered falling asleep to the gentle, almost rhythmic, beat of metallic blue wings on a patch of mud.

Watching them, he sensed so much peace.

_Butterflies ain' never in a hurry t' get somewhere. _

He didn't know why Billy kept listening to the white-haired man who seemed worried and rushed them along so much . . .

_. . . 'less tha's God. Angels gotta obey God. 'N' Gramma a'ways said ya try 'n' obey God best ya can when yer still on Earth. Means I better listen real good t' him, bein' I don' know fer sure. _

While he thought that and watched the butterflies, he drifted off to sleep.

_He was on his belly in the grass by the corral. A monarch butterfly fanned its wings on the leaf of a milkweed plant. The creature caught his eye while he was on his way to muck out the horse stalls. He couldn't resist watching it. He knew Gramma and Grampa encouraged his curiosity most of the time. They wouldn't mind._

_A shadow darkened the grass and milkweeds around him. A calloused hand reached down and disturbed the monarch, making it flutter wildly across the farmyard as if to escape a predator. The smell of home-distilled whiskey filled the air around him. Pa jerked him to his feet by the back of his shirt collar. There was no escape for him. _

Even as he whimpered in his dread of what was going to come next, he felt a hand on his forehead.

_Grampa musta found me. I'm safe s' long 's I hang onta Grampa's hand. _

He clutched the meaty hand to himself, knowing Grampa would defend him from Pa. Or die trying.

_The butterfly returned and settled nearer to him. It almost seemed to beckon him to sprout wings and fly away with him. But he wasn't old enough to leave home yet. There would come a day when he would do it just to protect the ones he loved but that day was not now. Angry voices surrounded him and the butterfly flew away for good. _

The voices could have been Pa and Grampa. Lord knew, Grampa chased Pa off the property often enough when it wasn't Pa's legal visiting times. He knew Grampa would want him to escape, find refuge in the barn or the root cellar. His muscles tensed but wouldn't allow him the freedom to run. Then the voices stilled themselves and he was at peace again.

_Until Pa's next visit._

Another hand felt his forehead and then Billy was shaking him awake.

"Time ta wake up, li'l brother."

He whimpered at being forced to leave the dream world so soon and stared up into an anxious dark-skinned face. "Billy?"

He rubbed at his eyes. His black angel brother held his attention with a worried gaze. "Gotta start movin' b'fore the bad guys find us."

"Pa ain' left yet?"

_I gotta get 'way, hide so he can' beat on me. _

He panicked and sat up only to have a wave of dizziness almost overwhelm him. Grabbing Billy by his massive arms he pleaded for him to make the beatings stop. "I can't take no more, Billy. Ya gotta protect me."

"My friend Face here's gonna help me get you to your feet. Alright?"

He listened carefully to Billy's response and nodded, not taking his eyes away from his angel brother.

_Face? Tha's a crazy name fer an angel. But if Billy knows 'im 'n' trusts 'im . . . _

Billy was giving his fellow angel instructions. "Faceman, you get on his left side an' I'll take his right. Now ya gotta try ta help push yourself up with that left leg of yours, li'l brother. Okay?"

_Pa musta hurt my leg pretty bad. Maybe tha's why I can' run 'way too easy right now. _

The two angels squatted and put his arms over their shoulders. "Ya gotta bend that left knee, get some of your weight on it so Faceman ain' deadliftin' ya on that side. Ready, li'l brother?"

"I guess." He tried to make his voice sound braver than he felt.

_I thought angels could do anythin' they set their minds to. I ain' that heavy. But maybe angels got their limits, too._

"On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!"

As the two angels lifted him, he forced his left knee to bend, to help them to get him up so they could all escape Pa's wrath.

He shifted his weight to his right leg as he rose to his feet. Pain shot outward from his damaged knee and up and down his leg. He arched his back away from the jolt and bit his lip to keep in the groan that wanted to come out.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he muttered, "Hurts bad, Billy. Hurts so bad."

"I know it does, I know it does. Listen. I'm gonna stand in front of ya. I want ya ta wrap yer arms around my neck just like before an' I'll carry ya. Got that?"

Through blurred eyes, he saw the huge back in front of him. Threading his arms around his brother's shoulders, he forced himself to stay conscious as Billy lifted both of them up and started moving through the forest.

As they neared the sparkling stream, the black angel growled a warning. "Hold on tight. I don't wanna get wet 'cause ya squirm 'round."

_Don' 'member a stream like that 'round Sour Lake. Billy must know a real good hidin' place somewhere b'yond it. _

"Too tired t' squirm." He let his head loll against the powerful shoulder and closed his eyes.

_Maybe God'll let me sleep fer 'while. _

Way too soon he felt himself being lifted from Billy's back and onto the ground. With drowsiness closing in on him, he was thankful that Billy, the Face angel and God moved away from him to talk.

He began to dream. This time he was in the Sour Lake High School student parking lot about to get into the battered old pickup he drove.

_The custodians at the school had insisted he go home after he kept talking to them, avoiding the inevitable. He knew it was late and Gramma would be worried about him. His was the only vehicle left. He thought Pa maybe had given up waiting by now. _

"_Boy."_

_The voice froze him in place and he cringed._

Just as Pa reached out to grab him, someone bathed his face with a cool wet cloth.

_Cyndy? Ya found me. Don' tell Gramma 'n' Grampa. Pa'd kill 'em if he knew that they knew what he did t' me. _

"Please, don' tell 'em," he murmured and let himself drift into a dreamless state.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he woke again. Billy was carrying him piggyback. The angels had somehow managed to get him into that position without rousing him. The heavy footsteps his brother took nudged him into a half-awake state.

It took a great deal of effort to raise his head from Billy's shoulder. He wasn't too familiar with the kinds of trees and plants that met his eyes. Saw them in books about rainforests and knew they weren't native to Texas.

_Billy's so uptight. Maybe if I say somethin' silly, he'll relax._

"I don' think we're in Kansas anymore, Billy," he murmured.

If anything, his comment made the black angel's muscles even more tense.

_Maybe a song? I'll keep it quiet so's God don' hear. _

He started the song as a gentle hum and nestled his head against Billy's shoulder again. His Texas drawl was even more pronounced as he began to sing the words.

He couldn't prevent his eyes from drooping shut and sleep from overtaking him.

The next thing he knew, the Face angel was helping Billy lower him to the ground. As soon as his right leg touched the solid surface, pain shot like electricity through his body. He couldn't hold back the moan. Drifting back to sleep, he hardly noticed when someone bathed his flushed face with the wet cloth.

There was nothing but a deep dark peace this time, one he didn't want to leave.

But they wouldn't let him stay there. Billy and another angel, one they called Heller . . .

_. . . God sure has a lotta angels helpin' li'l ol' me . . ._

shook him awake. Stubbornly he refused to open his eyes.

**"**Jus' a few more minutes, Billy. Please? I'm so tired." They wouldn't allow that. Before he knew it, they had him sitting up, preparing him to stand on that leg of his that hurt so bad.

"Up we go, li'l brother."

_No! _

The pain was getting worse each time he put weight on the leg. He couldn't hold himself upright. Dizziness threatened to put him back on the ground. But the white-haired person he thought might be God grabbed him just in time and helped the other angel lift him onto Billy's back.

He heard the instructions even as he felt the hand touch his to get his attention.

"You hold on tightly to Billy, son. We don't want you to fall and hurt yourself more than you are now."

_No. More pain wouldn' be good right now. _

He was too weak to acknowledge the voice by opening his eyes so he nodded his head a tiny bit. Apparently that was good enough because he felt his brother start to move with him again.

He hugged Billy as tightly as he could and rested his head once more.

_They're all so worried 'bout me. _

He especially hated it when his brother was worried.

_What can I sing now t' make 'im feel better? _

He couldn't remember the words to some of the songs Billy always said he liked to hear him sing in the past.

_That's strange 'cause I been tol' I have a really good mem'ry. It's okay. I'll pick somethin' easy. How hard is it t' 'member the words t' "London Bridge Is Fallin' Down," anyway? _

He held on as tightly as he could to his brother's neck and started humming. The angels talked back and forth about what he was singing. Then Billy hefted him further up on his back. He hadn't meant to slip down and make his brother's job tougher. He had to try harder to be good.

They talked around him as if he couldn't hear them at all.

_That's dumb. I always hear Billy when he's talkin' t' me. They should know I'm listenin'. _

He couldn't keep his singing up for long, couldn't keep Billy and his angel friends entertained. He wanted to. He wanted to make them all happy like angels were supposed to be but he was being dragged back into the blackness.

He woke for shorter periods of time now. The pain was so great he couldn't hold back the tears when he _was _awake. He tried to be brave but it hurt so God-awful bad. Sometimes he was able to force it away by humming. That helped him go back to the calming darkness. If only he could stay there forever.

_Cyndy knelt beside him in his dream. Her amber eyes twinkled as she smiled and caressed his cheek. She was so close he could smell the vanilla musk perfume she wore. Just before he leaned closer to kiss her, he murmured, "I love ya, Buttercup." Then Pa intruded and jabbed his knee with a hot branding iron. _

He woke and realized it was just Billy redistributing his weight again. They must have come to another stopping place. He didn't know angels needed to take rests so often.

Then suddenly he thought of something.

_They don'. They're doin' it fer me. Maybe they're all gettin' tired o' havin' t' take care o' me. Maybe they're gonna leave me b'hind this time. _

An angel started to pull him off Billy. Murdock's breath caught in his throat. He grasped his brother and begged, "Billy, don' let 'im take me 'way from you." He couldn't hang on. He was too weak.

This time when the jolt of pain traveled up and down his leg, he tried to control his reaction. A gasp still escaped from his mouth but at least they could see he was trying to be strong and brave.

Billy and Face Angel carried him between them to a place where ferns shaded him. He wanted to cry out to them not to leave him all alone but his mouth wouldn't shape the words anymore. He heard the whimper come from his throat.

_Now I've gone 'n' done it. Whinin' like a damned puppy. Wouldn't blame 'em if they left me so they can make better time._

The ground was cold. It chilled him all over. He couldn't stop himself from shivering.

_'Nother sign of bein' weak. _

"God, B. A. He's like a hot burner on a stove."

The angel called Face took his hand, stayed by him when he saw how cold he was. Murdock wanted badly to drift into the peaceful darkness, knowing that at least one of the angelic beings was watching over him.

He faintly realized his pants leg was being torn away and he was being turned onto his belly. Billy had returned by the time his legs were completely exposed to view.

"Colonel!" That was Billy's voice. As soon as the black angel loomed into sight, he grabbed his hand. The pain hadn't gone down this time when they laid him on the ground. It almost seemed to have a white hot intensity to it.

He let the tears fall from his eyes as he made himself take short panting breaths. All of the angels were assembled around him but Billy was closest.

"My leg's on fire, Billy. It's burnin' all up 'n' down it. Ya gotta put the fire out. _Please_!"

Someone cooled his forehead with the wet cloth again. He thought it was Face Angel.

There was talk of splitting into groups, of sending someone to rescue them. He heard all of the conversation without understanding everything. The part about him losing his leg caused the blonde-haired angel to tighten his hold on his hand.

_It's okay if it gets rid o' the pain. Really it is. _

That's what he wanted to say. There was an awful lot of anger in the air around him. He hated being in the middle of it, being the cause of it.

Face Angel looked at him with such anguish, he wanted to say something silly to him to get him to smile again. He was losing his focus.

Seconds later as Billy's angel friend walked away to obey the white-haired man, he felt something sharp slice the side of his knee. That hurt but the pain that came after it was worse. Hands squeezed the flesh around his injured knee. His protest came out as a moan before he lapsed into unconsciousness again.

He struggled to wake up when he felt someone press his hand. There was too much dense fog to wade through to form a response but he heard the angel's whisper.

"I have to take Heller and Wilson and get them to safety."

_Angels don' need t' find safety, do they? They got so much power, they don' need help. 'Least I didn' think so. _

While he was still puzzling over that, the whisper continued.

"Listen, Murdock. You're like a brother to me. I'm not leaving you because I want to. I wish I could be sure you heard me."

_I hear ya jus' fine. My ears ain' the things that're bad. If you wanna be my brother 'n' Billy don' min', I'm good with that. _

"B. A. and Hannibal are going to make sure you rest for a while and get better."

_Hann'bal? Wasn' God I saw then. 'Nother angel, I guess. Good name fer a leader angel. _

The angel that was talking to him must be the one they called Face. He sounded sad and angry all at the same time.

"You stay strong and hang in there. As soon as I find help, I'll send them back to get you out of here. I promise. And when we get back to the States and you're feeling better, I'm going to buy you one of those Pro Hockey penny arcade games just like the one we played back in that bar in Da Nang. Remember that? You won and I got mad and refused to play anymore?"

Murdock tried to think. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, little fragments were coming back to him. What he did remember hurt as bad as his leg did. This wasn't an angel talking to him. It was his best friend and they were all in danger.

_Face? Don' go 'way. There's gotta be some other way t' get help. You go 'way 'n' the VC'll get ya. _

He attempted to push through the pain-filled haze to show his friend he understood. His body was no longer obeying and he sensed Face stand up and move away from him.

_No. _

"You and B. A. take really good care of him. I just told him I'd buy him a Pro Hockey penny arcade game when we get back to the States and I intend to keep my promise."

He heard footsteps moving away from him and leaves rustle. One last time he tried to cry out and failed.

_Don' go! _


	29. Chapter 29 White Dogs and Happy Trails

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 29 White Dogs and Happy Trails

"My leg's on fire, Billy. It's burnin' all up 'n' down it. Ya gotta put the fire out. _Please_!"

Murdock's desperate plea kept running through the Sergeant's mind as the Colonel began to tend to their feverish comrade's injuries. He could still remember the involuntary tears the injured man wouldn't have wanted him to notice.

_Humiliatin' 'nough for him, havin' ta lay on his belly an' have his pants hauled down so Faceman could see how bad it is. Don't need ta know we saw him cryin' like a three year old. _

He was sure his hand still bore the imprint of how hard the pilot had squeezed it to take the edge off his searing pain.

_An' I can't do a damn thing ta help 'im. Except be here an' hold 'im down 'til Hannibal's done tendin' to his wounds. _

Face was still there, holding onto Murdock's hand, wiping the flushed skin with the soaked pants leg B. A. handed him.

_Hope he's prayin' some of those Catholic prayers for healin' he learned when he was a kid. Fool could sure use them 'bout now. We all could. _

Then Hannibal told Face about his decision to separate into two groups of three. B. A. winced at the rage radiating from the Lieutenant and charging the atmosphere.

_Just 'cause I knew this was gonna happen sooner or later don't make it no easier now that we gotta do it. _

Glancing up into Face's eyes, B. A. knew the Lieutenant hurt emotionally as much as Murdock did physically from what was happening to him. Face argued with Hannibal for a while but it did no good. He reluctantly left the pilot's side to prepare his group to leave.

_He's followin' Hannibal's orders but he sure don't like it. _

B. A. gripped Murdock's ankles tightly, keeping both legs straight, and wasn't surprised when there was only a feeble reaction to the incision Hannibal made.

_Man's so weak right now he couldn't kick an empty can a foot down the street. _

He didn't want to watch as Hannibal squeezed blood and pus from around Murdock's knee to relieve the pressure. He had seen his share of infected and bleeding war injuries but this was Murdock. This was different.

He felt genuinely sick as the Colonel continued to gently palpate the swollen flesh and drain the fluid.

_There's so much. Where's it all comin' from? _

Murdock moaned and the Sergeant tensed at the sound, knowing the pilot was hurting badly.

_Guess I would, too, if Hannibal had ta do the same ta me. _

B. A. was almost relieved when the pilot appeared to pass out from the Colonel's efforts. Then a thought paralyzed him and made him peer at the Captain's back, watching for the rise and fall that would tell him Murdock was still with them.

_Crazy fool didn't just die from shock, did he?_

Hannibal paused and felt for a pulse and for breath coming from the pilot's mouth or nose.

_Even Hannibal ain' sure. _

When the Colonel ascertained that the man was still breathing but shallowly, he nodded at B. A. and forced himself to focus on the job he had to do. He picked up the knife.

_Colonel's got ta have someone ta keep the fool from squirmin' 'round when he wakes up. He moves, Hannibal cuts wrong an' the crazy man'll be shootin' blood from a cut blood vessel or end up crippled worse 'n he is now. _

After his men had halfheartedly eaten their share of the figs and bananas, the young blonde Lieutenant knelt and whispered his goodbyes into the unconscious man's ear. Witnessing the sorrow in Face's expression, B. A. could have singlehandedly ripped the heads from a dozen men like Ferret.

_Man shouldn't hafta say goodbye like this. _

The muscular black man fidgeted restlessly at the raw pain he saw in the Lieutenant's angry eyes when he told them about the promise he had made.

_A Pro Hockey penny arcade game, huh? Yeah, fool's gonna like that. If we ever see the Faceman 'gain. _

The Lieutenant led his group into the dense vegetation and disappeared from sight. The Colonel didn't look up from his work but the Sergeant saw him pause briefly before continuing the work of debriding dead tissue from the three stubborn slow-healing wounds.

Neither Hannibal nor Face noticed Murdock's lips move ever so slightly. B. A. did and sucked in his breath.

"Hannibal. Fool's awake again."

The Colonel's hands froze and he stared at the pilot's face. "Are you sure?"

"He is, Hannibal. I saw his lips move." B. A. swallowed and regained his firm grip on the pilot's ankles.

_Colonel's already cut away 'nough from the fool's legs ta leave real bad scars. How much more's he gonna hafta do 'fore we're either rescued or . . ._

"Hold him good then, Sergeant." The black man heard the weariness in Hannibal's voice. "Though as weak as he is, I doubt he's going to do much. Then we'll try to wake him up enough to get him to drink some water, maybe eat something."

Except for a few soft gasps of pain, Murdock didn't respond through the rest of the procedure.

The Colonel pressed his lips together as he wiped the blood from his hands and the knife. "That's all I can do. Let's get him to open his eyes."

B. A. moved from Murdock's feet to his side. Between them, the two men pulled the black pants back up and rolled the pilot over onto his back. The Sergeant gently grasped the skeletal hand. "Hey, li'l brother. Ya gotta wake up now, get some water an' food in ya."

His eyes closed, the pilot gave his head a slight side to side shake. He snaked his fingers around the black Sergeant's wrist and weakly pulled at him. B. A. shuddered when he realized that during the debridement Murdock must have been feeling a lot more pain than his small gasps indicated.

_Man's stronger than I woulda given him credit for. _

Despite his lingering anger over how much Murdock was suffering, the Sergeant was amazed at the swell of pride he had for what he saw of the pilot's endurance.

_Fool knows a million ways ta drive me crazy wit' his jibber-jabber 'n' nonsense, acts like a li'l kid mosta the time, but he ain' no chicken shit coward when it comes ta pain. Takes it like a man. _

"Face . . . " the injured man rasped. "Where's . . . Faceman?"

The lids slowly opened to brown eyes that were both agitated and accusatory. It was the clearest the black man had seen those eyes for quite some time but the focused glare was discomforting.

Before B. A. could answer, Hannibal placed a hand on Murdock's forehead, checking for fever. The touch drew the pilot's attention away from the Sergeant and to the Colonel.

Without meaning to, B. A. let out a quiet sigh of relief for the difficult question he would not have to answer. He didn't want to have to be the one to tell him.

_No tellin' how the crazy man's gonna react. _

"I had to send Face ahead of us with Heller and Wilson. They can make better time right now than we can." Hannibal's hand grasped Murdock's shoulder as he gazed directly into the pilot's eyes.

For a few seconds, the Captain stared in disbelief at Hannibal. Then the eyes squeezed shut and he grimaced as he turned his face away from the Colonel.

"Then I wasn' 'maginin' it," the pilot whispered, each word heavy with grief.

Murdock swallowed several times, his jaw muscles twitching from the battle to regain control. B. A. was never very good at sensing emotions but the internal torment the injured man was struggling with was so intense, the Sergeant flinched.

Finally after a minute had passed, the pilot spoke again. "Ya coulda left me, wen' on with 'em." He forced the words out from between gritted teeth. "Have a better chance o' survivin'."

B. A. scowled.

_Ain' 'bout ta let the fool wallow in that kinda thinkin'. _

He wrested his wrist away from Murdock's hand and gripped his shoulder. Giving it a violent shake, he growled, "Brothers don' leave brothers ta die 'lone."

_Where'd that come from? Do I really think he's gonna die? _

He felt Hannibal's cold gaze settle on him even as Murdock gave a small snort of disapproval.

When he spoke again, his voice was stronger but he still wouldn't open his eyes to look at either man. "Don'tcha know, Big Guy? I'm Superman. Only thing's gonna kill me's green kryptonite."

_What kinda new game's this? Okay, so he thinks he's Superman now, huh? Least he ain' callin' me Billy no more. _

"An' even Superman's gotta eat, ya fool. So let me get ya sittin' up so ya can." B. A. kept his focus on the injured pilot and avoided Hannibal's displeased stare.

_Okay. So I made a mistake sayin' anything 'bout him dyin'. That's why I ain' a medic. _

"But Faceman ain' Superman." Murdock opened his eyes as B. A. bent to put one arm under his shoulders and lift him to a sitting position. "He can' stop speedin' bullets."

The Sergeant kept his arm around the younger man's bony shoulders, wondering if he didn't prefer the childlike Murdock to this bitter version. This Murdock wasn't going to let the subject drop. He couldn't be distracted as easily.

"Faceman's tough. An' smart. He ain' gonna lead 'em inta danger." He gave the pilot's shoulder a slight squeeze and reached for the canteen. "Now drink some of this."

Murdock turned sullen eyes on Hannibal as he took two swallows and handed it back. "Ya shouldn't o' divided us up jus' 'cause o' me."

"My decision, Captain. You know the rule. No man left behind." The Colonel's eyes flashed with icy stubbornness as he handed one of the figs to the pilot.

"Don' know why ya wanna waste yer food on someone ya think's gonna die on ya," he muttered as he took the fig in his hand.

Hannibal shot B. A. a warning look. _Let me handle this, _he seemed to be saying. B. A. was more than willing to let him this time.

"Because you're not going to die under my command. If Face is ever going to buy you that penny arcade game, you can't. Now eat. And that's an order."

Murdock gave Hannibal a sloppy salute with one weak hand and mumbled, "Yessir."

As soon as they finished their meager meal and buried the food scraps, Hannibal helped to hoist the pilot onto B. A.'s back. It was more difficult with only one man to assist. Murdock slipped back into a semi-conscious delirium as the Colonel led the way through the stream-side vegetation.

At first the pilot was silent except for an occasional hitched breath when B. A. tripped over a root or vine and caught himself before falling. The Sergeant presumed Murdock was almost to the point of falling asleep when he started humming. His quiet humming turned into an under-the-breath song. B. A. remembered the tune but not the words. They were strangely appropriate for what they had just been arguing back at the rest stop.

_Happy trails to you until we meet again.  
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.  
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?  
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.  
Happy trails to you 'till we meet again._

Murdock abruptly stopped singing and murmured, "Ya think we'll ever see the Faceman, Wilson 'r Heller 'gain, Big Guy?"

_What kinda question's that? I can't see inta the future. _

B. A. prayed his Momma would forgive him for lying as he said, "'Course we will, li'l brother. I know we will."

He felt the pilot nestle his head into a more comfortable position. "That's good. Gotta stay with yer unit."

Moments later the slow rhythmic breathing he felt on his back and neck told him Murdock had surrendered to sleep.


	30. Chapter 30 Lady Luck and the White Dogs

Morale

AN: A klick is one kilometer or .62 miles.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 30 Lady Luck and the White Dogs

Hannibal and B. A. picked their way through the thick undergrowth. After about one and a half klicks according to the Colonel's reckoning, a stream on the opposite bank joined the one they were following.

They were making slow progress and the stream seemed to take a number of twists and turns. It was difficult to tell exactly how far they had come. B. A. certainly didn't know.

_Hann'bal ain' gonna rest 'til we get all the way ta the South China Sea. But he's gotta know that Murdock ain' gonna hold out that long. _

Off and on, Murdock woke. B. A. knew because he felt the injured man tentatively raise his head a few inches and gaze with glazed bewilderment at the Sergeant's face and then at his surroundings. As he snuggled the back of his head closer to the strong black man's neck, he mumbled to himself or to his imaginary brother Billy before falling asleep again. Most of his muttering was in English.

When the words he murmured were in Vietnamese, he became restless, mingling the foreign words with small whimpers. He hugged his arms around the big man's neck a little tighter as if to seek comfort. His whole body trembled with fever and fear.

"Shhh, li'l brother. They ain' gonna hurt ya no more. I won't let 'em." As quietly as he could, B. A. whispered the words he hoped would take the terror out of whatever nightmares the pilot was having at the time. After B. A. recited his litany of caring words, Murdock calmed down only to wake again fifteen or more minutes later.

It was becoming too large of a burden for the big Sergeant to carry alone.

_Ain' that he's so heavy. He ain'. It's just too much, the stuff he needs ta glue his mind back together. I'm not strong 'nough or smart 'nough ta do that. _

It was a thought B. A. didn't want to admit: that there was something in life that his strength and bad attitude couldn't subdue, conquer or make right no matter how much he tried.

As if on cue, Murdock woke and lifted his head. This time when he rested it again he hummed a soft tune under his breath. Like before the words began to slip out little by little. B. A. snorted his amazement.

_Can't shut the crazy man up. You'd think with that leg the way it is, he'd be moanin' an' groanin' 'stead of singin'. _

It was some white man's song the Sergeant remembered first hearing on the Armed Forces Vietnam Network radio station. It was before the crash, before the escape that brought them to this godforsaken area of Nam.

He never thought the lyrics applied to him. He was black. The civil rights battles back in the States were still being fought. If he was still back there and in the South, nobody but another black man would help him. But as he let the man on his back quietly sing it now, he understood. It strengthened him in a way his sheer willpower could not.

_Th' road is long  
With many a windin' turn  
That leads us t' who knows where,  
Who knows where?  
But I'm strong,  
Strong 'nough t' carry him.  
He ain' heavy, he's my brother._

_So on we go._  
_His welfare is my concern._  
_No burden is he t' bear;_  
_We'll get there,_

_For I know_  
_He would not encumber me._  
_He ain' heavy, he's my brother . . ._

"I ain' gonna let ya down, li'l brother. We'll get there together," the black Sergeant promised. B. A. wished he could pat the younger man on the shoulder to seal their brotherhood but both arms were holding Murdock up, carrying him like the song said. He had to be content with that.

_'Sides, the fool went back ta sleep 'gain. _

They had been following the stream east when the path it cut began to slowly meander northward. Hannibal rasped back to him that he figured they had traveled about five and a half klicks from the last stream that emptied into this one.

At one of the oxbow bends in the stream, the Colonel stopped and turned to gaze at B. A. and the semi-conscious murmuring pilot on his back.

"How does he seem to be holding up, Sergeant?" The black man detected the note of concern in Hannibal's voice as he took two steps and reached up to place a palm on Murdock's forehead.

"He's been off an' on wit' his jibber-jabber. Sleepin' more th'n he's been talkin' lately. Still really hot. Shiverin' a lot." Now that he stopped to think of more than keeping the two of them from stumbling, B. A. frowned. "Fool's gettin' worse 'gain."

At the Colonel's touch, the injured man forced his glassy eyes open and lifted his head a few inches to glare down at him.

Tightening his hands into loose fists, trembling as he did, Murdock muttered ferociously, "Đưa tôi. Không phải anh ta. (Take me. Not him.)"

Neither man understood what the pilot had just said but the threat in the action was clear. Just to be safe, Hannibal backed away and slung the AK-47 onto his shoulder. Raising his hands and taking his time, the Colonel spoke as softly as he could to the wild-eyed Captain.

"Nobody's going to hurt you now. The guards are gone. You've been hurt pretty bad and I need to look at your injuries, Captain." Hannibal reached out to touch Murdock's hand but the pilot cringed and pulled away.

"Họ đang đi? (They're gone?)" He scanned the Colonel's face to be sure, his bright eyes barely seeming to recognize the man in front of him. His harsh breaths hitched in his chest and he buried his face in B. A.'s neck. With a muffled sob of relief, he wept, unaware the Sergeant could feel his hot tears on his skin. "Không đau nhiều hơn. (No more pain.)"

B. A. flinched as the droplets trickled down his neck and mingled with the sweat already there.

"We gotta take a break, Hannibal. Not for me. For him." The black man scowled at the Colonel, challenging him to disagree even as he redistributed Murdock's weight on his back.

_Man's gotta listen ta reason. Can't push someone hurt as bad as the fool is. _

After a few seconds regarding the two men through solemn blue eyes, Hannibal nodded. "Here. Let me help you before you drop him on that leg. We don't need all of the neighborhood VC coming out of the woodwork to investigate any screams."

Gripping Murdock under the arms, the older man carefully bent at the knees and lowered the pilot's upper body to the ground. B. A. knelt simultaneously to gently do the same for Murdock's lower body.

Once done, Hannibal squatted beside the injured man. B. A. abruptly got to his feet and grabbed the canteen where the Colonel set it. His dark eyes flashed over the emaciated body and pallid face of his friend before he shook his head and turned away.

"Might as well wet down that cloth an' fill the canteen while we're stopped," the Sergeant rumbled. He paused for a moment. "Ya gonna be okay with 'im for a few minutes, Colonel?"

"Yeah. Yeah, go ahead, B. A. Take your time."

The Sergeant drew in a deep breath as he left the two alone. He was glad the Colonel gave him permission to get away for a few minutes. He didn't want to admit it but the thought of the pilot dying while he was carrying him made his flesh crawl. Since Murdock became the team's pilot, B. A. had grown used to the Texan's goofy sense of humor and crazy antics on the ground and in the air.

_Don't always like how the fool carries on, but I guess I'd miss 'im if he didn't make it outta here. But I ain' gonna let 'im die. He's gonna make it. He's gotta make it. _

oooooo

The Colonel watched B. A. stalk away to the stream before turning his attention to Murdock.

"Hann'bal?" The pilot's eyes were closed, a frown showing how much pain their action had caused.

"I'm here."

"Sorry 'bout that outburst. Didn' know what I was sayin, who I was sayin' it to. Been in 'n' outta it so much."

Hannibal was relieved to see a degree of clarity in the pilot's eyes when he opened them.

"It's alright. We didn't know if you were cursing at us or giving us your blessing. Maybe next time you could say it in English?" He looked for a small smile that never appeared.

Murdock swallowed and brought one arm up to cover his eyes. "Th' two o' ya gotta keep movin'. Lady luck's gonna smile on ya only so long 'fore the black dogs come t' bitecha."

"Lady luck isn't going to turn her back on us. We're the good guys. Remember? Besides, we don't move without you."

The pilot uncovered his eyes and gripped Hannibal by the wrist, pulling him toward him. "Damn it all, Hann'bal! I ain' worth the two o' ya gettin' caught 'gain. Pilots're a dime a dozen." The dark brown eyes burned into the Colonel's calm blue ones.

"I see it differently, Captain. And the last I knew, I outrank you here on the ground." Hannibal pried Murdock's fingers loose and met his glare with one of authority. He squeezed the injured man's hand briefly before setting it on his belly. "No man left behind. That's our code."

"That's why ya sent Face with Heller 'n' Wilson, ain' it? Ya knew I'd order 'im t' leave me? 'N' he'd think he had t' obey?" The pilot turned his face away in irritation.

Hannibal didn't answer for a few seconds. Without touching, he inspected the incision he had made earlier and Murdock's right knee. The knee showed signs of swelling again and the Colonel inwardly groaned. He didn't know how long they could continue to drain and debride before the leg was beyond all hope of being saved.

Murdock bent one arm under his head to pillow it and watched him. Noting the strain in the older man's face, he glanced down and frowned. "It ain' lookin' good, is it."

"Well, I'm no medic."

"But it ain' gettin' better, is it. Even to yer untrained eye."

"No."

Murdock glanced up at B. A. as he knelt beside him. Cupping the back of the pilot's head in one huge hand, he brought the uncapped canteen to the injured man's lips. "Drink, fool, an' stop talkin' your nonsense. You don't, I'll give ya somethin' ta run 'way from. Got that?"

The injured man smiled bitterly. "Ya know I can't run, Big Guy. 'N' I'm only tryin' to look at reality."

"Ain' reality 'til it happens. Now shut up an' drink."

The pilot took two gulps and shook his head. "No more." He pillowed his head again in the crook of his arm and let his eyes search out a patch of sky through the trees. His Texas drawl was more pronounced as he held back emotions he didn't want either of the two men to see. "D'ya ever see such a pretty sight? That clear blue sky 'bove us? Wish I was a big bird, eagle maybe, so I could fly us all outta here."

"Crazy man! Can't ya ever talk sense?" B. A. said it in a derisive tone but his expression told a different story.

"Landing'd be a li'l rough, though, with only half my landin' gear operational." Murdock gave them both a tight-lipped smile as the black man swabbed at his face with the wet cloth. "Ya make a good nurse, B. A."

The big man growled his response.

"I don't know how far from the Sông Bồ we are but I figure we've done about seven klicks since the last rest stop." Hannibal offered the information to detour the conversation from Murdock's injury. He noted the pilot's frown of concentration.

"'N' we seem t' be goin' northerly, huh? How long we been doin' that?"

"About one klick."

The pilot nodded thoughtfully. "This stream should feed inta the river pretty soon, maybe two or three more klicks. I gotta tell ya somethin' now 'case I'm not thinkin' straight when we get there."

His eyes grew dark and reflective for a moment before he spoke again. He swallowed as he pushed aside the thought that had interrupted him. "Ya need t' cross the river somewhere. I 'member helpin' t' haul a platoon up there 'fore we were captured. They watch the river 'long the right bank at night jus' in case the VC try t' move up 'n' down it. Ya need t' be on the side where our guys are located."

"I understand, Captain."

"Ya gotta be careful. They're all gonna be a li'l trigger-happy. Won' be expectin' POWs t' show up on their back door." The pilot looked pleadingly from one man to the other. "Hope they're still there when ya get there."

"When _we, _all three of us, get there, Captain," Hannibal emphasized.

"Yeah, man. If you know Face, he's waitin' for us so he can start the celebration. Prob'ly got some wine an' women delivered special for all of us. But we gotta get there first." B. A. hesitated, then stroked the hair back from Murdock's forehead with one calloused hand.

The injured man closed his eyes and gave a faint smile. "'N' all I was hopin' for was a soft bed, a shower 'n' a hot meal."


	31. Chapter 31 Two White Dogs Alone

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 31 Two White Dogs Alone

They heard gunfire in the distance, a not so subtle reminder they were in a country where war could be found at the next bend of a quiet stream.

"M-60s? That was a li'l more 'n shootin' at some food, Hann'bal." Murdock wheezed out his observation, his eyes squeezed as tightly shut as he could muster. "Humans shootin' other humans, more 'n likely."

_Shootin' at some food? 'N' up through th' groun' come a bubblin' crude . . . oil, that is . . . black gol' . . . Texas tea . . . _

Startled, he realized he was drumming up the lyrics to television theme songs. His mind was slipping down the rabbit hole again.

_Dammit! Gotta stay focused if I'm gonna be more 'n a sack o' taters Big Guy's gotta lug 'round. _

Hannibal stopped, raising his hand as a signal to B. A. that they would rest for a while. His gaze went immediately to the Captain. He noted the strain in the injured man's facial features and flashed the black Sergeant a worried glance. "Sounded like it to me, too."

Since the last rest stop, they had traveled half of the remaining distance to the Sông Bồ. For several hundred yards, every small unintentional jolt in B. A.'s gait sent riveting hot waves of liquid pain throughout Murdock's leg. Hanging onto the black man's neck with one arm, he pressed his clenched fist to his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to stifle his groans.

_Ain' the Big Guy's fault. 'N' least I know I still got feelin' in it. It ain' completely dead yet. Means they can save some o' it. Maybe. _

The signs of Murdock's pain did not escape Hannibal's attention but his more immediate concern was what kind of danger they may be approaching and if there was any way of skirting it. The injured man would not reach safety and get good medical attention if their pathway was obstructed.

As soon as he sensed that B. A. had stopped, Murdock also sensed the Colonel's scrutinizing look. He forced himself to stop gnawing on his fist and opened his eyes in an attempt to appear in better condition than he felt.

_Don' show 'im yer pain. Don' show 'im yer pain. _

It was his new mantra, the words he repeated in his head when his mind wasn't wandering off to Sour Lake, Texas, to the skies over Vietnam or to Major Trình's POW camp. He didn't _want_ to know what he said out loud during his less coherent moments. He knew B. A. heard every word but would never say anything about it.

_Don' show 'im yer pain. _

He attempted to remember what kind of weapons may have produced the gunfire and how much there was of it. Maybe if they knew the answers to that, they could avoid trouble.

Still, the next thing out of his mouth when he addressed the Colonel was a question.

"Ya think it's Faceman 'n' the others?" He managed to raise his head a few inches, trying to focus his blurred vision on his CO. Seconds later he let his head loll back onto B. A.'s shoulder as a wave of dizziness made him see double.

_Don' show 'im yer pain. _

He hadn't expected Hannibal to answer his question. How could he? They didn't know how far ahead of them the other group was.

_Am I ever gonna see ya 'gain, buddy? What if those shots we heard . . . _

"I don't know, Captain. The M-60s and M-79s wouldn't be them but maybe they found whoever's firing them. Could be our side chasing the VC out of the area."

Murdock knew Hannibal and B. A. were passing silent messages between them. They didn't want to get him agitated. Meaning they thought it likely Face's group was in some way involved in what they all heard.

_No. _

"Let's make you comfortable here for a while and I'll scout ahead and see what's going on. You look like you need a rest." The Colonel already had his arms snaked around the pilot's chest to support him as he attempted to ease him backwards and away from B. A.

"Ah'm fine, Colonel. Big Guy's doin' all th' work. All ah gotta do's keep 'im entertained." Murdock knew his drawl was becoming more pronounced despite his efforts to look and sound like he could last another ten klicks if he had to. Pain and delirium had a way of bringing out the native Texan in him.

He gripped the Sergeant's shoulders to him as closely as he could. He felt the black man's muscles tense under his hold. B. A. redistributed his weight as if to help lower him to the ground.

_No! _

His mind sought desperately for something to show them he was good to go. Ready for the next ten or twenty klicks, even if he had to walk it himself.

In the end he resorted to begging even as Hannibal peeled him from B. A.'s back with very little effort.

"Please, Colonel, suh. Ah gotta know what's happened t' Face. He needs us . . . he needs us." His weakening voice trailed away as he felt Hannibal's chest against his back. They were ignoring his pleas.

And then he was flat on the dirt with B. A.'s concerned face looming over him. He heard only part of the Colonel's muffled instructions as he moved away from them.

". . . back as soon . . . see where . . . get help . . . tomorrow noon . . . without me . . . "

Murdock's mind filled in what he didn't hear clearly by himself. The Colonel was going to see what conditions were like up ahead, how far they were from the river. He was going to find help if he could but if he didn't return . . .

As that thought registered, the pilot shot the Sergeant a frantic look. He shook his head from side to side as he rasped, "Don' let 'im go."

"Shut up, fool. He's a'ready gone." B. A.'s voice was a half-hearted grunt. He knelt on one knee beside the injured man and uncapped the canteen the Colonel left for them.

"No!" Murdock tried to prop himself on his elbows and sit up but collapsed from the effort. He was losing his focus again. He had to get it back.

_Don' show 'im yer pain. _

"Here, crazy man. Drink." The Sergeant lifted the injured man's head, bringing the neck of the canteen to his lips.

The pilot raked the black man with a disapproving glare before turning his head away from the water. "Ya could o' kept 'im from goin'."

"You know better 'n that, fool." A hint of annoyance made the last word harsh.

For a few silent moments Murdock entertained the thought that he could make the black man angry enough to stalk away and leave him to die, if that was what was going to happen anyway. B. A. would follow the Colonel, cover his back if he got into a bad situation.

_But with what? Colonel left th' knife but took th' gun. Big Guy'd get cut down in a firefight with nothin' t' protect himself. Ain' gonna let that happen t' th' mudsucker. _

Resigning himself to wait with B. A. for the Colonel to return, he closed his eyes so he didn't have to carry on a conversation with the Sergeant. He didn't want false reassurances about Face and reunion celebrations. He didn't want speculations about Hannibal's chances of finding help without being taken captive or getting killed.

The ground wasn't as comfortable as an Army cot or even the wooden platform in the POW camp but he was too weary to shift himself into a better position. When he woke again, maybe he could convince the Sergeant he had to find Hannibal and move on. If Hannibal could be found.

Before drifting into a restless sleep, he muttered to himself, "'N' then there were two."

oooooo

Hannibal crept through the ferns and bushes almost noiselessly, the AK-47 at the ready. The gunfire from earlier repeated itself, only it was much closer now. The question was whether the action was moving toward him or if he was moving toward the action. He guessed the latter but couldn't be completely certain.

Glancing up through the leaves above him, he noted that nighttime was approaching. It was not a good time to be wandering around. He would soon have to find a place to spend at least part of the night until there was enough light for him to see where he was going again.

He had no doubt that B. A. would stay where he was told to wait until around noon the next day. He knew also that the Sergeant would defend the injured Captain against any enemy soldiers with his own life if he had to.

The future? He wasn't sure he wanted to think about what he would find upon his return. Murdock hadn't fooled him one bit. His pain was driving him to think irrationally. The Captain had lost hope that he would make it and he was not about to be the cause of either B. A. or his CO not surviving.

Hannibal continued on his scouting mission until he came to the place where the clear current flowed into the murkier Sông Bồ. Murdock had said the American troops were last known to be on the other side of the river. He made his way upstream, looking for a shallower spot where they might cross.

When he found it, he also found a place where he could rest for a while. Once tucked in among the undergrowth, he lightly dozed off and on.

He woke several times. Each time his dream ended with a vision of Murdock being dragged across a camp yard by Ferret and Major Trình, his pain-filled voice pleading, "Please, Colonel, suh. Ah gotta know what's happened t' Face. He needs us . . . he needs us."

The last time he woke it was to the sound of small arms fire perhaps a klick away. The rifle fire gave way to the louder and more insistent chatter of machine guns and grenade launchers. Finally, there were several howling whistles that pierced the evening sky and shook the earth even at the distance Hannibal was away from the conflict. Bright streaming flares of light illuminated the sky before each explosion.

The Colonel knew something big was happening. He hunkered down, realizing he would have to wait until the light of day to see if Lady Luck had just led him to their rescuers.

oooooo

B. A. carefully watched the injured pilot as he slept. He wasn't about to doze off and wake to find a corpse.

Every time the Captain muttered in his slumber, his muscles twitched in a fight-or-flight manner that seemed more flight than fight. B. A. knew the whispers could easily grow to full-fledged screams of terror. Before that could happen, he crept closer and muttered his personal mantra of reassurance meant to chase away the demons of Murdock's dreams.

"Shhh, li'l brother. They ain' gonna hurt ya no more. I won't let 'em."

Between times, he did something his Momma taught him to do whenever he was faced with responsibility that was almost too much to bear. He prayed.

"God, get Hannibal back here soon. Help me keep Murdock 'live an' safe. Don' let 'im give up. Need yer help like never before. Amen."

From some distance away came the sound of gunfire. Soon after, a series of shells fell like exploding shooting stars in the ebony sky. If it wasn't a sign that they were fairly near a battle taking place, it would have been almost as enjoyable to watch as fireworks on the Fourth of July.

The Sergeant sat closer to the pilot and listened for any unusual rustling sounds in the foliage around them. He held the knife ready to repel anything that would dare to attack.

"B. A.?" The pilot's voice was low and hoarse.

The black man hoped the fool would drift back to sleep without him having to say a word. _No such luck. _

"B. A.?" This time the tone was a little more anxious. It reminded him of a young cousin of his who went with him through the haunted house at the Illinois State Fair and got frightened halfway. He had to hold Alex's hand all the rest of the way until they exited into sunlight.

"I'm here. What ya need, Murdock?"

Moments later the pilot reached out a trembling hand and touched the Sergeant's forearm. "Th' stars. Wha's goin' on with th' stars?"

"They're still up there. Now go back t' sleep."

"They're all fallin'. Gramma said that meant th' end o' th' world was near." The flashes in the sky briefly illuminated Murdock's wide-eyed bruised face. He looked as scared as B. A.'s cousin had all those years ago.

"Those ain' stars. Look, they ain' droppin' on us, are they? They ain' gonna either so go back t' sleep." B. A. peered at the dark form of the man beside him. He saw the pilot raise up to prop his upper body on his elbows.

"Not th' end o' th' world? Ya sure? Promise?" Murdock's face was turned toward him, trying to search out reassurance.

"World ain' endin' t'night, li'l brother. Lay back now. I'm right here an' I ain' gonna let anythin' hurt ya. Promise." B. A. took a deep breath and gently pushed the younger man back down to the ground. As a last measure to ward off the evil still causing Murdock's body to shiver, the Sergeant firmly gripped his hand.

B. A. watched the light show for several seconds before he heard the slow soft breaths that indicated the injured man was once again sleeping. He didn't pull his hand away until morning.


	32. Chapter 32 Leeches, White Dogs, Trouble

Morale

AN: Sorry for the shorter chapter this time.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 32 Leeches, White Dogs, Trouble

The gunfire and long-range shelling died down a half hour after Murdock fell asleep. B. A. was relieved that the pilot had no more questions about the end of the world.

_God, the nights're pitch black out here. Can't see nothin', but maybe that's good. Means if there's anyone out there, they can't see us either. _

The Sergeant sat close to the injured man, dozing off and on for the rest of the night. His was an uneasy light sleep, interrupted every time Murdock muttered to himself. The Captain's shivering and murmured delirium was much less when B. A. maintained his hold on the pilot's hand.

Several times the black man woke to a recurring dream of his own. In it, furious VC guards wrestled Murdock to the ground and beat and slashed him beyond recognition with their rifle butts and knives while B. A. was forced to watch.

When he woke from those dreams, he gripped the pilot's chilled skeletal fingers a little tighter in his large sweaty hand. With his other hand, he clutched the handle of Ferret's knife and listened more intently for intruders until he drifted to sleep again.

The foliage around them slowly turned from monochromatic black shadowy masses to shades of dark grayish-green as morning approached. The injured man's twitches and spasms grew more agitated.

"Đại tá! Đại tá! (Colonel!)" The words started as a hoarse whisper and increased to the volume of a rasping croak as B. A. woke for the final time that hour.

"Shhhh. Go back ta sleep. Nothin's gonna hurt ya long as I'm here," the black man soothed in a low rumble.

_Wish Hannibal was back. His's the voice the fool needs ta hear._

Squeezing the pilot's hand quieted him down again. It was then B. A. noticed the land leeches.

During the night several of the slimy creatures found the warm exposed skin on the black man's legs and hands. Grayish brown with elongated black spots, the leeches were about an inch long and half an inch wide. There was no way of telling how long they had been there.

He growled at the discovery and began to systematically scrape them off with the knife blade.

_But if I got this many o' the bloodsuckers on me . . . _

His gaze wandered to the unconscious man beside him.

Murdock's face had paled to an ashen gray hue overnight. His chest barely rose and fell with his shallow wheezing breaths.

The black man cursed and clenched his teeth. Six leeches had attached themselves to his companion's bruised face and neck. He would have to check the pilot's injured bare leg for more of them after he took care of these.

As B. A. pared a leech away from below Murdock's right eye, the pilot violently shuddered and moaned once.

"Don't move, li'l brother. Ya got a buncha bloodsuckers on ya an' I don't wanna slit yer throat gettin' 'em offa ya."

"B. A.?" He opened his eyes halfway and blinked in surprise. "Yer still here. Where's Hann'bal?" His voice was higher in pitch and more strained than it had been.

"Not here yet but it ain' even noon. He said give 'im 'til noon. Now let me get back ta work." He brought the knife up to remove a large leech from under Murdock's jaw.

_No use talkin' 'bout where Hannibal might be. We gotta believe he made it through the night an' he's on his way back to us with help. _

"Leave 'em." The pilot twisted B. A's wrist with as much force as he could exert. The knife blade slipped in the black man's hand and made an inch-long cut under Murdock's chin. The injured man's grip loosened.

_Damn, the crazy man's strong when he puts his mind to it. _

"Ain' gonna matter 'n a while 'n' ya know it," he muttered, grimacing in pain.

B. A. jabbed the knife into the ground beside him to the hilt and sat back to stare at the thin trail of blood trickling down Murdock's throat. Twice in two days he had injured this scarecrow of a man, his team mate. He opened his mouth to respond with a gruff apology and then noted the Captain's half-closed eyes secretly scrutinizing his reaction.

_You want me ta get mad 'nough ta leave ya here. Ain' gonna work, fool. _

B. A. scowled and placed his left palm on Murdock's forehead to hold his head in place. "Look what ya made me do."

He dabbed at the cut with a piece of cloth, disregarding the injured man's glassy-eyed glare. Was that desperation he saw in those eyes?

"Ain't gonna let 'em drain ya of yer blood. Now hold still 'fore I gotta hit ya ta _make_ ya hold still."

_An' that'd be strike number three. Don' make me do it, fool, 'cause I will if I gotta. _

Picking up the knife, the Sergeant once again held it in position near one of the attached leeches.

"Jus' 'cause Hann'bal's code says ya don' leave a man b'hind don' mean it ain' sometimes th' smartest thin' t' do, Big Guy." Murdock huffed out a frustrated sigh and swallowed. "But yer too dumb, too much of a dumb ugly mudsucker t' do the smart thin', ain' ya?"

B. A. paused, then scraped the leech off the pilot's neck with a little rougher movement than he intended. The words stung but not nearly as much as it would hurt if he knew the crazy man died because he left him behind.

"Smart's not givin' up 'til there ain' no other option, fool," the Sergeant muttered.

A bitter laugh escaped the Captain's mouth. "Looks t' me lak all mah options're jus' 'bout used up."

B. A. worked in silence for the next few minutes. The drawled slurred words didn't even _sound_ like they would be coming from Murdock.

_He ain' been a quitter as long as I've known him. What can I say? Ain' gonna be easy gettin' him ta hold onta me if he's determined ta make me go alone. _

As each leech succumbed to the blade, it left a bleeding Y-shaped bite mark. Soon several small rivulets of blood crisscrossed Murdock's neck and face.

"We gonna eat somethin', then head out." The Sergeant lumbered to his feet with the cloth used for washing wounds and the canteen in his hands. He impatiently stabbed the knife blade into the earth at the pilot's feet, then got a fig from the rucksack and tossed it to the injured man. "Eat that an' I'll be right back."

Murdock snorted. "I ain' goin' nowhere." B. A. felt the brown eyes boring into him as he waded through vegetation to the stream.

The black man remembered the dreams that had disturbed his sleep so much that night and prayed he hadn't suddenly developed a knack for having premonitions.

As he rinsed out the cloth and filled the canteen, he looked around for anything they could use as food. He capped the canteen and wrapped the dripping cloth around it. Sighing, he stooped down to pick up a snail and hold it eye level. His forehead creased in a disgusted frown.

_I'm gonna get real tired of these. _

Rustling noises and soft grunts alerted him to trouble. Dropping the snail, he crept as soundlessly as possible toward the commotion, wishing he had thought to bring the knife with him.

_But if the VC found Murdock, he's prob'ly usin' the knife ta defend himself. _

Hoping for an element of surprise against their attackers, B. A. was not prepared for what he found when he got to their trailside resting place.

oooooo

Hannibal waded across the river, holding the AK-47 with fully extended arms above his head. He had to make sure the crossing he selected did not have surprise drop-offs. When the water was chest-high, he almost slipped when rocks shifted position under his feet. Gritting his teeth, he waded downstream, keeping to the center of the river until he found a shallower place.

He wasn't going to chance B. A. losing his footing and dousing both himself and Murdock in the turbid stream-fed waters.

Once he found a better crossing, he waded up onto the opposite shore and picked his way toward the source of the previous night's display of firepower.

He had to at least find out if those holding the area along the Sông Bồ on that side were enemy or friend. It would determine their path once he got his men across the river.

Making his way steadily up a small hill which overlooked the waterway, he spied a man in fatigue pants maybe a half a klick away wading and then swimming to the center of the river. As he watched, the man disappeared underwater for about two minutes before shattering the surface to take a few huge breaths. Then he dove under again.

Puzzled, Hannibal kept his eye on the display, wondering what the diver was trying to do. A few more attempts and the man emerged, triumphantly gripping a rifle in his upraised fist.

He couldn't be absolutely certain the man he saw was American so he opted to continue watching from the hill for troop movements. Moments later he got his answer when he observed a squad of olive drab clad soldiers dispersing to check the area. They appeared to be American.

Hesitating for only a few seconds, the Colonel descended the hill as quietly as he could. He had to figure a way to attract the attention of the soldiers without getting himself shot in the process.

About the time he reached the river, he heard a footstep behind him.

"Dừng! (Stop!) Drop your weapon."

Hannibal carefully extended his arm out to his side and slipped the AK-47 to the ground. Lacing his hands together behind his head, he waited for the next instructions and hoped his captor didn't have a trigger finger.


	33. Chapter 33 Black Dog Ambush

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 33 Black Dog Ambush

Hannibal let the breath out that he had been holding ever since he heard the command "Dừng! (Stop!) Drop your weapon."

With the mixture of Vietnamese and English, he wasn't sure who he was dealing with. He figured American, maybe even one of those olive drab-clothed men he observed from the crest of the hill. But he couldn't be certain and he didn't want to find out he was wrong by taking a bullet to the head.

He dropped the AK-47 as ordered and placed his hands in one of the universal positions of surrender.

"What've we got here, Corporal Scalzo?"

Someone with an authoritative but youthful voice approached, grasped his upper arm with a steel grip and spun him 180 degrees to face both of his captors.

The grimy pinched face of a younger man pushed into a command position before he was truly ready peered into Hannibal's eyes.

"Blue eyes, white hair. Who are you and why're ya out here alone?" His eyes narrowed as he took in the tattered black POW uniform.

"Am I free to drop my hands . . . " Hannibal looked for any insignia that would tell him the rank of the soldier he was confronting.

"Yeah, but keep them in sight. Sergeant. Sergeant Evan Robotti. And you are?" Neither soldier had stopped pointing their M-16s at the Colonel's chest but they were a little less tense.

"John Smith. Colonel John Smith, United States Army, Fifth Special Forces Group." He wished he had a cigar to casually light when he noted Scalzo's slightly paling face at the mention of his rank. Both men drew themselves into a straighter posture and saluted.

"That's alright. Let's not get formal out here." Hannibal squinted at Sergeant Robotti. "You the guys who were giving us a sight and sound movie last night?"

"We were watching the river to see if anything came floating by that shouldn't be there. A sampan happened to get in our sights." The Sergeant shrugged and shouldered his weapon but did not command the Corporal to do the same. "Found an AK-47 . . . " He glanced at the rifle Hannibal had discarded, ". . . like the one you were carrying, in the water approximately where the boat went down."

The Colonel nodded. He wanted badly to get through all of the preliminaries quickly and lead a medic and others back to B. A. and Murdock but these men needed to know he could be trusted first.

"So, again. Why're ya out here alone an' dressed like every other dink in this neighborhood?" The Sergeant placed his feet shoulder width apart and scrutinized the Colonel's face.

_Ah, there's the question I've been waiting for. _

"There were six of us being moved from a camp around the Happy Valley area to Phu Bai where one of our group was going to be taken north and the rest of us . . . " he shrugged. "Who knows where they were going to take us. We overpowered two of our guards and made our escape somewhere close to the Ho Chi Minh Trail north of A Luoi as far as we can tell."

"POWs? Where's the rest of your men? Sir." The Sergeant added the last as an after-thought, Hannibal was certain. He had not totally won the trust of this man. His story still required more detail.

"Injuries and disease forced us to separate into two groups of three men. I'm with the second group, the one with the seriously injured man. He was beaten badly by the guards. I was scouting ahead, making sure we weren't walking into a recapture." He was beginning to get very annoyed.

_But then again, how would I handle the same situation if I was on patrol after an incident like last night and found someone wearing black native clothing and carrying an enemy rifle? _

He forced himself to take in steady breaths. "Take me to your commanding officer. I have to get help for my man as soon as possible."

Sergeant Robotti took one more careful look at Hannibal and nodded. "Corporal Scalzo, escort Colonel Smith back to Lieutenant Dunn. He'll know what to do."

oooooo

He heard enough stories about land leeches from the men he transported on his chopper to know the bite marks would continue to ooze blood or serum for several hours. The bites themselves would not bleed enough to cause death but scratching them because they itched could lead to secondary infections.

Murdock felt multiple streams of blood trickling down his cheek, his neck, his chin.

_I mus' look like I been in a knife fight. _

That thought led to memories of Cyndy and the several times she found him beaten and bloodied after a run-in with his drunken father.

_Damn, she knew how t' nursemaid me back t' health. Those beautiful eyes o' hers and that sweet gentle touch. Sure wish I could see 'er one more time. B. A. jus' don' look like my Buttercup. Not as pretty. _

The memory of Ferret's lifeless body lying on top of him, the death he was personally responsible for, flickered across his mind. He shuddered.

_Maybe it's best my Buttercup don' ever see what this war's made me into. _

Murdock passively allowed B. A. to scrape the leeches from his face and neck, watching with indifference as he worked.

_Nothin' I can do t' stop th' big mudsucker. _

He had tried his best to make B. A. angry, to drive him away.

_For 'is own good 'n' for Hann'bal's. But he's lookin' out for me 'n' near's I can tell I'm jus' 'bout as close t' a dead man as ya can get. _

Even if the infectious poisons from the wounds on his legs didn't travel throughout his body and stop his heart, he wouldn't want to live the rest of his life as an amputee.

_I'm not blind. I know if I don' get help pretty soon that's what they'd do. Chop it off, maybe mid-thigh if it gets that bad. _

He would most certainly be honorably discharged from military service and probably never fly again.

_I ain' gonna let that happen. I'll die first. _

Murdock kept his eyes on B. A., trying to get him to meet his gaze with no luck. The black Sergeant seemed too focused on what he was doing with the knife blade. The pilot wasn't sure if B. A. was trying to avoid eye contact so he didn't have to face reality or because he had slipped and cut Murdock once and wasn't about to do it again.

_Prob'ly a li'l o' both. _

"We gonna eat somethin', then head out." B. A. growled the words as he gathered the canteen and a piece of cloth.

The pilot watched B. A. jab the knife into the ground at his feet.

_If he's gonna leave that here . . . _

The big man pitched a fig Murdock's way. The pilot caught it in the air and looked at it, at the knife and then at B. A.

"Eat that an' I'll be right back."

The faintest glimmer of a plan for forcing B. A. to go on alone started to come together in his mind.

_If he don' hafta take care o' me anymore, it'll make things easier for 'im. He'll have a chance o' survivin'. _

Murdock snorted. "I ain' goin' nowhere." But he made sure B. A. disappeared from his sight before making his next move.

_Ya gotta understan'. It's th' only way, Big Guy. Th' only way . . . _

It was more difficult than he realized to use his good leg to maneuver his upper body so he could wrestle the knife from the ground at his feet. When his hand finally closed over the knife handle, tears of desperation were trickling from the corners of his eyes.

He painfully propelled his body backwards into the denser foliage by bending his left leg and digging in with his foot, then pushing himself. Soft grunts accompanied his efforts. The process was slow, much too slow. Small rocks and twigs scraped against the skin of his useless right leg. He bit the inside of his lower lip to prevent a stifled groan from warning B. A. of his actions.

_Big Guy's gonna come back 'n' stop me 'fore I find a place t' hide what I'm doin' from 'im. _

The top of his head made contact with the trunk of a thirty foot tall tropical conifer. He thrust himself into a sitting position against it and held the handle of the knife in both hands, gulping in shallow breaths as he did. His hands were shaking badly. It was one thing to formulate a plan and quite another to carry it out when it involved the ultimate personal sacrifice.

The edge of his field of vision was rapidly filling in with black dots. The jungle sounds around him gently roared in his ears. He had used so much of his strength to drag himself into hiding that he had to wait for some of it to return. Even if the Sergeant came back now, Murdock knew he was hidden from his sight and would not be easily found.

_Maybe when 'e gives up the search for me, he'll try 'n' fin' Hann'bal. Maybe they won' ever find my body. _

Two dark shapes emerged at once on the spot where he had been resting. Huddling down even more, he saw their upper abdomens above the ferns and shrubbery. One came from the direction B. A. had gone to refill the canteen. The other appeared from the faint trail to the side and behind him. Both figures were cautious with their movements.

_I gotta warn 'im. I gotta tell B. A. there's danger. _

A sound distinguished itself from the muffled noise around him. He froze as the single word registered in his brain.

"Dừng! (Stop!)"

It was followed by a short burst of gunfire and a stifled grunt of pain.

_No, no, no . . . _

He held his breath, realizing what the sounds might mean.

There was a fierce scuffling noise ahead and to his right. He couldn't tell who had been shot, how badly or who other than B. A. was fighting for possession of the weapon. Panic squeezed his insides, made his heart thud fast and hard in his chest.

_If I'd o' left th' knife, jus' crawled off t' die, B. A.'d still be 'live . . . Oh God, I 's much as killed 'im. _

Then he heard the angry growl.

_That's the mudsucker! He's 'live. But for how long? Gotta think o' somethin' t' even th' odds. _

He clutched the knife with one hand and rolled onto his belly. If he was going to die anyway, he was going to die trying to get back into the fight, defending his friend. Adrenaline gave him the boost he needed to desperately crawl toward the struggle.

The smaller figure was directly in front of him with his back turned to him. Murdock took in a decisive breath and let out an ear-splitting howl, ending with a "Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi . . ."

At the same time, he drew his right arm back, aimed and threw the knife as hard as he could at the NVA soldier attacking B. A. The impetus of his throw forced his face down into the leaf litter and mold of the forest floor.

The soldier spun around, his AK-47 spraying shots into the foliage above Murdock's head. Fern fronds, orchid blossoms and leaves showered down onto the pilot's prostrate form. And then the man fell to the ground as B. A. tackled him around the knees.

For several seconds the pilot lay in stunned silence, almost forgetting to breathe. He heard B. A.'s harsh heavy grunts as he staggered to his feet and stumbled over to him.

Murdock didn't know what to say or do first. He had the irrepressible urge to grab the black man around the neck and hug and kiss him like he was a long lost brother suddenly come home.

_Better not try that. Big Guy'll kill me, I do anythin' like that. _

"You're 'live," he managed. He raised his head to glance at the Sergeant, to assess his condition but found his strength suddenly depleted. He let himself collapse back onto the ground.

"'Course I am, fool. Takes more 'n one o' them ta bring me down." B. A. sat beside Murdock after wrenching the knife from its position in the upper right quadrant of the NVA soldier's back. "Where ya learn ta throw a knife like that?"

Murdock weakly shook his head. "Don' know. Don' 'member." He sighed, then strained once more to look at the black man. Blood streamed from a wound on the Sergeant's upper arm. "Yer hurt. How bad?"

"I'll live." B. A.'s dark eyes were scanning the man beside him. "If you hadn't come up b'hind us an' did that fool war cry of yours, sent that knife flyin' at 'im, I might not of been able ta say that. I owe ya one."

Murdock gulped.

_He don' know why I was hidin' in the weeds. _

He suddenly felt very cold and very sick to his stomach. When he vomited, nothing but water came up. And then he was quiet, unconscious again, the puddle of watery vomit soaking into the earth under his head and by his mouth.


	34. Chapter 34 White Dogs Converge

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 34 White Dogs Converge

B. A. gently rolled Murdock over onto his back.

_Oh, man, fool. Look at the mess ya made o' yourself. _

The side of the pilot's face, the side which had been battered so brutally by their guards, was covered with the watery mess he had vomited.

The vomit wet his disheveled hair and plastered it to his scalp. Dirt and bits of leaves adhered to the mucous coating his mottled black and blue skin. It looked too much like what B. A. thought grave mold would look like on a dead person dumped in a hole in the ground, then covered up.

He grabbed the cloth and canteen from where he dropped them when he confronted the NVA soldier. Uncapping the canteen, he re-moistened the cloth and quickly swabbed the debris from Murdock's face.

As he finished the job, the injured man's teeth clenched and his facial muscles tightened.

"Ya with me, fool?" B. A. whispered. Moments later, he pulled back in surprise as Murdock's back arched slightly and his arms and leg muscles twitched.

_Jus' like the last time back at the camp. _

Hannibal called it a seizure. He had said B. A. couldn't do anything to help Murdock through it, that he had to come out of it by himself.

He didn't think the pilot had enough strength left in him for his body to convulse as violently as it did. Several contractions later every muscle in the injured man's body stilled as if nothing at all had happened. Urine soaked the front of his black pants as his sphincter muscles released_. _To the Sergeant's eyes it looked as if the man had suddenly died.

B. A. gripped Murdock's hand in his.

He remained unresponsive. The Sergeant gazed with unbelieving eyes at the face that ordinarily would be so animated with manic humor.

_Damn! Don't die on me now. _

For a minute B. A. pressed his fingers into the fleshy area behind Murdock's lower jaw, wondering if he would find a pulse or not. The beat was fluttery and erratic but still there. He placed one hand on the injured man's chest and shook his head at what he felt.

_He barely breathin.' _

B. A. squatted back on his heels considering what he should do. His orders were to start following the stream around noon in the direction Hannibal had taken. He wasn't sure if Murdock would endure being carried for any distance.

_We can wait an' see if Hannibal gets back here with help. Make Murdock comfortable best as I can, try an' wake him up once in a while to make sure he drinks somethin' an' stays alive. Then 'gain I could go an' see if I can find help myself but I can't just leave 'im here ta fend for himself. _

For a few seconds he mulled that over in his mind. Glancing over at the NVA soldier's body, he ruled out either of them staying. Where there was one enemy soldier, there would likely be more. Murdock would not be able to defend himself, even if he were conscious, if there were more than one attacker.

_An' the shots the gook fired already's gonna bring any others this way. Better get movin' again. _

B. A. removed the web belt from the soldier and buckled it on himself. Tucking one knife in the sheath, he jabbed the other into a tree trunk and leaned the AK-47 beside it. When he returned to squat beside the injured man, he found Murdock's brown eyes partially open and staring up into the tree canopy.

"Where'd th' sky go, B. A.? Everythin's so dark. I ain' in Hell, am I?" His hoarse voice was so panicked, B. A. wasn't sure how to answer. With a sinking feeling, he realized Murdock was losing touch with reality again.

_An' this is the closest thing ta Hell we're gonna find on Earth. _

Sighing, B. A. shook his head at the pilot. "You think Hell's got palm trees an' ferns, li'l brother? You think you'd see _me _if you was in Hell?"

Murdock's brow furrowed in thought before he answered. "I don' know. Maybe Hell's got visitin' hours?"

_Got no time for this jibber-jabber. _

B. A. shot a suspicious glance at the pilot's face and saw how serious he was. There was more behind the words the injured man was saying, doubts about the afterlife. He wished Hannibal was there to give a command or Face was there to cajole Murdock away from talking about death.

_This ain' somethin' I can talk ta the fool 'bout. _

He blurted out the first answer he could think of. "Ya gotta be dead b'fore ya go to Heaven _or_ Hell. An' you _ain'_."

"I ain'?"

"No. You ain'."

_Least not yet. But ya might be if I don' try an' find Hannibal. _

"Listen. Can't talk 'bout all this right now. Gotta get movin' 'gain 'fore the bad guys find us." B. A. hoped all of the talk about the afterlife was over. "Here, let's get ya sittin' up." He slipped his arm underneath Murdock's back to support him.

The pilot murmured a weak protest as B. A. lifted him into a sitting position and then got behind him to raise him onto his feet.

The Sergeant ignored it. "Shut up, fool. I ain' leavin' ya." He wasn't about to admit he would miss the crazy man's company if he was to go on alone.

"Now hang on ta me an' let's get goin'." As Murdock gripped B. A. as tightly as his remaining strength allowed, the black Sergeant swung the strap of the AK-47 over his shoulder and tucked the other knife in the web belt. "I gotta feelin' we're gonna find Hannibal an' a rescue party somewhere close by."

The man on his back was silent for several moments.

Then he softly whispered, "I hope yer right, Big Guy."

oooooo

Lieutenant Dunn stood, his RTO beside him, and surveyed the man in the tattered black peasant's clothing. He gestured for Sergeant Robotti to stay close by before speaking. "You're American?"

"Colonel John Smith, Fifth Special Forces, United States Army, like I told your Sergeant when he and Corporal Scalzo found me." Hannibal wasn't surprised when the other man gave him a sloppy salute and returned to scrutinizing him, allowing him to speak. He could tell Dunn was a cautious man, not inclined to quick decisions.

"I and five other men escaped from VC guards two days ago. Three of the men came on ahead of us. Have you seen them?" As he asked the question, the Colonel could see from the other man's expression that they had not. His heart sank inside him.

"You're the first POW we've seen in this area. You said only three came this way. Where are the other two?"

"I had to leave them about three klicks from here across the river beside a stream that feeds into it. One of them needs medical attention. He can't walk on his own." He kept his gaze on the other man's eyes, gauging his reaction.

"Colonel Smith, we are in the middle of an operation here. I radioed in and requested some choppers to deliver us over to the other side of the river. I want to make a sweep of the area to see if we can locate any survivors of last night's ambush." Dunn gestured to his RTO. The soldier had the PRC-10's antenna raised for any transmission the Lieutenant needed to send. No doubt news of this POW Colonel who had appeared out of nowhere would be relayed back to this man's headquarters as soon as Hannibal was gone.

The Colonel could see Dunn was thinking through what he could do. Refusing to assist another American soldier, especially a Colonel with a wounded man, was not an option. Hannibal was relieved to see that but he knew time was running out for Murdock.

He tried to keep his temper under control. "Can you spare a medic and two or three soldiers to return with me to where I left my two men?"

"Not sure I can give you two or three men but I can lend you our medic and one man. About three klicks you said? I'll make a call and see if we can't get a MedEvac chopper with a hoist out of Camp Evans for your man." Dunn gestured to Sergeant Robotti to come closer. "Robotti, you and Sergeant Vance go with Colonel Smith. Have Vance bring whatever medical supplies he thinks he may need. When you get there and you hear the chopper, pop some smoke and let them know where you are. Oh, and make sure Colonel Smith is equipped with a _good_ rifle, not one of those Commie-made pieces of shit."

Hannibal gave Dunn a wide grin and a nod at that statement. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir." Robotti saluted, then turned to the Colonel. "If you would follow me, sir."

oooooo

Sergeant Vance listened to the description of Murdock's medical condition and set about, grim-faced, to assemble gauze field dressings, povidone-iodine solution and other supplies he thought might be necessary.

Within a half hour, Hannibal was leading the two men back along the faint trail he had left.

The Colonel kept one ear open for any strange movements in the jungle around them. He listened for any sound of the chopper Dunn thought he could procure. At least some of his thoughts centered on what he would find when he returned to the spot he had left B. A. and the injured pilot.

_By now, B. A. will be readying Murdock for the journey downstream. _

At least, he hoped that was the case. Murdock was extremely weak when he left them. It required almost no effort to pull him away from his hold on B. A.'s neck. His voice had been husky with pain and thick with a Texas drawl that ordinarily wasn't _that _pronounced unless he was suffering.

About a half hour after crossing the river, Hannibal stopped and held up one hand to halt Vance and Robotti behind him.

"Take cover," he hissed and, with one hand held high, pointed in the direction of the rustling noise coming toward them. Within seconds the three men found places to crouch and hide while they waited for the source of the sound to reveal itself.

Robotti took a position behind a dead-fall tree opposite Hannibal while Vance crouched among a clump of low-growing palms. All three trained their M-16s down the path of flattened vegetation.

Moments later the dense foliage ahead of them parted and the Colonel exhaled a sigh of relief. "It's okay. He's one of ours."

The black man emerged from the surrounding jungle hunched over as he carried the pilot. To do otherwise would have allowed the injured man to slip off his back to the ground.

Hannibal rose from his position among the ferns to greet the Sergeant. He noted the streaming blood from the black man's upper arm. "Bit of trouble, Sergeant?"

"It's nothin', Colonel." B. A.'s answer was short and filled with concern. As Hannibal approached, the Sergeant waited for him.

The smile on Hannibal's face faltered and disappeared as he turned his gaze from B. A. to the man he was carrying.

"He lost his grip on me a few minutes ago," B. A. said in a worried tone.

Murdock's arms dangled limply over the Sergeant's shoulders. Except for the bruising on the right side of his face, his skin tone was ashen gray. He seemed to be barely breathing, if at all.

B. A. turned anxious dark eyes on the Colonel. "I tried my best ta keep him 'live. Please tell me he ain' dead, Hann'bal."


	35. Chapter 35 White Dog Rescue

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 35 White Dog Rescue

Sergeant Vance frowned as he reached up and grasped one of the pilot's wrists. Failing to find what he was searching for, he reached higher and pressed the tips of his fingers into the area behind Murdock's jaw.

The black Sergeant stood still, his eyes intent on the expression on the medic's face. When the firm line of Vance's mouth relaxed, B. A. breathed a soft "Thank God."

"He isn't dead. He has a faint pulse." Turning to look at Hannibal and Sergeant Robotti, the medic motioned with his head down the path. "Assuming the chopper sent to transport you and your two men will _not_ have a hoist, we have to get them both out of this dense undergrowth and to a place where the chopper can get down close enough to pick them up. I can work on their injuries until then. Maybe that place where we crossed the river?"

Hannibal nodded. "Good thinking. It's wide enough for the chopper and there's a fairly level, dry bank to lay him down." He glanced at the black man, noted the pain and concern reflected in his eyes and moved behind him.

_It's time for B. A. to be relieved of his burden. That wound doesn't look like a through-and-through shot. He's losing a lot of blood from it. _

The Colonel tightly wound his arms around Murdock's chest to pull him off B. A.'s back. "Sergeant Robotti, give me a hand here."

"Leave 'im, Hannibal." B. A.'s fierce growl stopped both men before they could make the transfer. Hannibal shook his head in irritation.

_Now is not the time to be a hero or a martyr. _

"You're wounded, Sergeant. It's time to let someone else take over." The Colonel placed his hand on the big man's upper arm and turned him to make eye contact.

"Nobody carries my li'l brother but me. I owe 'im, Hannibal." B. A. gripped the pilot's upper legs tighter and hunched over to shift him into a better position on his back. "I _owe_ 'im."

"Sergeant Baracus . . . "

B. A. scowled at the Colonel's use of his rank. His voice got lower, huskier. "Look, man. We gotta get movin'. Back where ya left us there's a dead gook. Don't know if there's more where he come from."

Hannibal scanned the jungle around them before returning his gaze to the defiant man in front of him. "Your kill?"

The black man shook his head and shifted his eyes in the direction of the man he carried.

The Colonel glanced at the unconscious pilot and frowned.

_So that's what this is about. _

Making a decision, he nodded his understanding. Hearing the full story of what had happened would have to wait. "Let's head out then. I'll take point. Robotti, you take the rear. Keep your eyes and ears open, all of you."

In less time than he anticipated it would take, the Colonel led the small group back to the bank of the Sông Bồ.

Robotti and Hannibal gently supported Murdock's body as they removed him from his position on B. A.'s back and lay him on the river bank. The muscular Sergeant knelt beside the pilot, his face set in a worried scowl as the two men took positions to guard them.

"He didn' even make a sound when ya lifted 'im offa me," he muttered under his breath. With more gentleness than Hannibal had ever seen him use, B. A. stroked back the shaggy brown hair from Murdock's face.

Vance squatted beside the black man and opened his first aid supply kit. "You're first, Sergeant."

B. A. pulled away from his touch, giving Hannibal a look of protest. "He's hurt worse 'n I am."

"B. A." The Colonel glanced down, his face grim with concern. "Sergeant Vance is a medic. He knows what he's doing."

Vance gave his reasons in a sharp tone. He forced eye contact as he grasped the big man's lower arm. "Your wound is bleeding. The bullet is still in there. His wounds have been there for a while. He's not bleeding. I take care of your bleeding first. Then I see what I can do for him."

The medic ripped apart a package and applied the gauze directly over the wound. "Now I want you to apply pressure to that and raise your arm up over your head. Keep it there until I say otherwise."

Vance rolled Murdock over onto his stomach and glanced at his swollen knee and the infected wounds on the backs of his legs. He shook his head at the sight of all of the criss-crossing slashes and removed the knife from his belt. Reopening Hannibal's initial incision, he pressed the accumulated pus and blood out from around the knee. Except for a small shudder, the Captain did not move or make a sound. Before turning his attention to the pilot's infected wounds, Vance checked the gauze over B. A's injury.

"The bleeding seems to be slowing down. Keep your arm elevated and if it still looks like the bleeding's controlled, I'll put a bandage around there to keep the gauze in place." Vance returned his attention to the pilot and began the work of debridement. Over each wound he applied a film of povidone iodine.

"Is Murdock gonna be alright, Doc?" B. A. rasped through gritted teeth as the medic layered a strip of gauze around his upper arm.

"I don't have the supplies to do the things he has to have done. He needs an IV set up with fluids and antibiotics. The iodine is a starter antiseptic but he's going to need a lot more than that." Vance raised his head and stared at Hannibal, solemnly acknowledging his previous medical treatment. "You did what you could, Colonel."

Hannibal shook his head and looked away.

_But was it enough? _

Robotti twisted his head over his shoulder to give the unconscious Captain a curious look. "Murdock? Is that what his name is?"

"Captain H. M. Murdock. Why?" The black Sergeant kept his eyes on the injured man in front of him. Reaching out to carefully touch Murdock on the shoulder, he frowned at the sneer in the other man's voice.

"Hey, Vance. Wasn't that the crazy son-of-a-bitch that flew us up to LZ Sally a while back? Nearly made me lose my stomach on that trip." Robotti chuckled, then stifled it as B. A. glared at him.

"This man's the best damn Huey pilot in all o' Nam. Ain' crazy and ain' the other thin' ya called him. An' if ya lost yer stomach 'cause of his flyin', maybe ya ate too much 'fore ya flew with 'im." The black man rose to his feet. Towering above his counterpart, he clenched his hands into fists.

The Colonel glanced at the black Sergeant in surprise. If it wasn't such a serious situation, the statement would seem humorous coming from his mouth.

_Can I get that on record, Sergeant? _

"Stow it. Both of you," the medic ordered as he took Murdock's pulse and lifted his eyelids one by one.

"Problems, Sergeant Vance?" Hannibal directed their attention back to the pilot.

_Hang in there, Murdock. Help is coming. Don't give up. _

The medic rocked back on his heels and swiped at his eyes with hands stained with blood. "I sure wish that chopper would get here." He glared at Robotti and B. A. "And he isn't going to get any better waiting here and listening to you two argue."

Looking up at Hannibal, Vance shook his head grimly. "I can't do any more than I have and I don't think that's enough. Does he have anybody waiting for him back home?"

Hannibal opened his mouth to answer but B. A. spoke before he did. "His Gramma an' Grampa an' a special gal he was talkin' 'bout marryin' someday." The Colonel gave him a curious look and the Sergeant explained, his eyes averted. "Face told me. Good ta know in case we gotta . . . well . . . you know . . ."

_Yes, I do know. And I hope one of us don't have to pay them the personal visit to tell them about all of this. _

B. A. knelt down beside Murdock again, watching him for any signs of consciousness. For several minutes, no one spoke.

"Listen." The Colonel held up one hand to keep them all silent. At first none of them could distinguish the sound above all of those around them.

Robotti shielded his eyes against the sun and was the first to see the glint off the chopper's cockpit windshield. "They're coming."

"Pop that smoke, Sergeant!" Hannibal ordered. "Let 'em know where we are."

As the light purple smoke drifted lazily up into the sky, the chopper approached, then hovered about two hundred feet above them. The right side door opened. The crew chief extended the Stokes litter beyond the skids with the rotating hoist and slowly lowered it with the cable and pulley system. It spun crazily in the air with the wind currents from the rotor blades.

As soon as the litter reached the ground, Hannibal and Sergeant Vance dragged it closer to where Murdock lay. Strapping him belly down on the makeshift bed, the medic signaled to the medical corpsman perched on the right skid to raise it. The ascent to the chopper was just as dizzying as the descent. The Colonel smiled sadly.

_Murdock would have loved it if he was awake. _

Hannibal glanced at B. A. His eyes were following the swaying litter. He gritted his teeth together in apprehension.

"Don' tell me I gotta hitch a ride on that movin' bed. That's worse 'n flyin' inta a hot LZ in a monsoon rain." B. A.'s voice was barely a mumble.

"Come on, Sergeant. You've dove out of airplanes with a parachute. How is this any different?" The Colonel clapped B. A. on the back. The black Sergeant grimaced at Hannibal, then turned his attention back to the evacuation in progress. Together they watched the corpsman gently unload Murdock into the chopper and signal for the litter to be lowered for the last two men.

With the litter again on the ground, Hannibal gave Robotti and Vance a crisp salute and grin before positioning himself beside B. A. on the flat surface. "Tell your Lieutenant Dunn we appreciate his help. Thanks, guys."

Vance squinted and saluted as the litter began ascending. "I hope Captain Murdock lives to fly again. Take care, Colonel Smith. Sergeant Baracus." With that, the medic and Sergeant Robotti shouldered their rifles and began the trek back to their unit.

With B. A.'s fingers clutching the edge of the apparatus in a death grip and Hannibal trying to keep him calm, he couldn't answer. But in his mind he thought of the injured man already being transfused with an IV in the chopper with the large red cross on its side.

_Yeah, I do, too, Sergeant._


	36. Chapter 36 White Dogs and Red Crosses

Morale

AN: I tried my best to find resources, both written and visual, which would describe what a medic in the field would carry, what the interior of a Huey used in dustoffs would look like, what medical procedure would be for the kinds of injuries Murdock and B. A. have, the types of drugs available in circa 1969, what Camp Evans might have looked like, what the MUST hospital and surgical unit at Camp Evans would look like, etc. It is part of the reason this chapter has been so long in being written. If I have gotten anything wrong as far as what I have written, I apologize beforehand. And please let me know if I do need to correct anything. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 36 White Dogs and Red Crosses

As Hannibal and B. A. climbed into the Huey from the Stokes litter, the medical corpsman looked up from where he knelt beside Murdock. He briefly scanned Hannibal head to toe for injuries before doing the same for B. A. His gaze settled on the bloody gauze and the compression bandage around the black Sergeant's bicep, and he motioned for him to have a seat nearby.

He tore off another strip of medical tape from the roll and smoothed it over the IV tube already in Murdock's arm, then set about to take his blood pressure. An olive drab blanket covered the pilot to just under his armpits. He was shivering and his breathing was short and rapid.

"I'll get to you as soon as I make sure your friend here is relatively stable. How long's he been unconscious like this?" The corpsman flashed serious green eyes at the Colonel.

"The last half hour, maybe longer. He's been in and out ever since our escape." Hannibal situated himself close enough to watch what was being done but far enough away so as not to interfere with the treatment being given.

The medic's answering frown set B. A.'s nerves on edge. The corpsman leaned over to the crew chief and muttered something to him, gesturing with his head toward the front. The other man nodded and edged toward the cockpit to convey the message to the pilot.

B. A. moved in closer to Murdock. He growled when the crew chief, returning from the front, gave him a pointed look before maneuvering the hoist to bring the empty litter back into the cargo bay.

_Work 'round me, fool. I ain' gonna leave 'im now. _

The corpsman lifted the injured man's eyelids to examine the sclera for jaundice. "'Alive enough to have strength to die,'" he mumbled as he shook his head and prepared to take his pulse and temperature.

"What was that, doc?" The black Sergeant narrowed his eyes at the medic.

The corpsman shook his head, regretful his words had been overheard. He shot a sad look at Murdock. "Didn't mean to say it so loud. Part of a poem by Thomas Hardy. Forget it. Doesn't mean anything."

_If it didn' mean anythin' why'dya say it? _

B. A.'s eyes followed the tubing from its terminus under the tape strips to the bottle of clear fluids hanging on a hook in the interior of the cabin.

"What're ya givin' him?" he demanded, his hands clenching and unclenching with his helplessness to do anything more for his friend.

"B. A." Hannibal reached out to grasp the Sergeant's shoulder but he shook the hand off.

"What're ya givin' him?" he repeated in a rasping growl, hoping his tone would tell the man if Murdock died, he would want good reason why it happened. He was reluctant to grab the man's wrist to force him to talk. He just wanted answers.

"Lactated Ringer solution, for now. His eyes and skin tone aren't jaundiced yet but if they do turn yellow, it means his kidneys aren't functioning properly. He is seriously dehydrated, he has a very high temperature and his heart is overworking to keep him alive," the corpsman snapped back. "Now are you going to let me get my job done?" He raked B. A. with a ferocious glare that challenged him to say anything more.

The black man averted his eyes and grunted something that sounded faintly apologetic.

Even though the oxygen mask concealed much of the pilot's lower face, the right side was clearly in B. A.'s view. He stared at the heavy bruising that colored almost all the skin from temple to chin on that side.

_Them guards that busted 'im up so bad got off easy. Well, not Ferret, but them others . . . _

His frown deepened. He remembered with shame his own contribution to the black and blue marks along the injured man's jaw, the knockout punch he had delivered to keep Murdock from bringing every enemy soldier in hearing range down on them beside the stream.

_Crazy man's lucky I didn' break 'is jaw or somethin'. An' he didn' seem ta remember me doin' it. _

B. A. rubbed his face with one hand as he thought about how much trust in him Murdock had displayed during their escape to freedom.

_An' he saved Wilson's life by knifin' Ferret. An' my life, killin' that NVA soldier the way he did. I owe this crazy fool a lot. _

The medic shifted his position to check the black man's gauze bandage. B. A. motioned toward the man lying on the litter.

"Keep my buddy 'live, sucka. I can wait," he muttered. For a moment the corpsman looked like he would challenge the Sergeant. Then he nodded and returned his attention to the pilot.

"Find a secure place to sit, guys. It might be a roller-coaster of a ride. Next stop, Camp Evans," the pilot shot back at them. He maneuvered the bird upward and sped northeast to the firebase and the 18th Surgical Hospital located there. The entire evacuation had taken less than seven minutes.

oooooo

Hannibal strode away from the building housing the battalion headquarters, cursing under his breath. Not only had his report taken longer than he thought necessary, he was informed none of the patrols this firebase sent out came across the three men he had sent ahead of their group. There were signs that someone strayed from the stream and headed on an easterly trek but whoever that was, they were trying their best to hide their passage. The trail they left went cold.

In a way, the Colonel supposed that should be a comforting bit of news. If the trail was left by Face, Wilson and Heller and a search party could not follow them, neither could the enemy.

_But will B. A. be content with that? And what about Murdock? Will he understand? _

Hannibal swore again under his breath for the decision he was forced to make. The commanding officer at this firebase didn't condemn him for it.

_Hell, he wouldn't have made any different of a decision based upon the circumstances. _

He turned the corner of the gray wooden headquarters building and stopped short.

In the center of a circle of well-placed rocks stood a large red-painted wooden object. The Rakkasan.

Outside of the ring of rocks lay a few discarded cigarette butts, the normal debris of an army camp. Inside the circle, the ground was kept in a sacred state of tidiness.

The inverted arch with the two outward curving legs and the cross bar underneath was a symbol for the 3rd Brigade, 187th, 101st Airborne Division. The Japanese regarded it as a symbol for the gateway to honor.

_Honor. I thought I knew what the word meant at one time. _

Hannibal kept moving past the red symbol with all of its implied meaning toward the last place he had seen both his pilot and his Sergeant taken.

A bitter smile appeared on his face and swiftly disappeared. B. A. had walked to the portable semi-permanent emergency triage building under his own power beside the stretcher which held Murdock. He vehemently refused to be transported in the same manner.

"I'm good ta walk. 'Sides, I gotta stay with _him._"

Hannibal knew he couldn't command the black man to lie down on a stretcher. All the authority in the world couldn't accomplish that. He had a feeling the medical personnel of the 18th Surgical Hospital already found out how difficult it was to sedate B. A. in order to remove the bullet from his arm.

Not when he was in protection mode over his fallen team mate.

They would find a way. The military always found a way to move mountains when it needed to be done.

_At least they won't have as much trouble convincing Murdock to lie still to be treated. _

Murdock. He hadn't stirred once during the short ride to Camp Evans nor when the corpsman and the waiting male personnel placed him on the stretcher and hustled him to the preoperative and resuscitation shelter. Hannibal would have followed them if duty in the personage of a Staff Sergeant had not called him to report to the camp commander.

Instead he muttered an angry "Stay with him as long as you can, B. A." and grudgingly followed the messenger.

The thought of all the time spent away from his injured men quickened his pace.

The Colonel knew he would not be allowed access to either of his men until they were out of surgery and in a hospital ward bed.

The 18th Surgical Hospital had been one of those designated to have MUST (Medical Unit, Self-Contained, Transportable) capability.

He frowned at the gray metal buildings which served as surgical suites.

The structures forming the medical "campus" had been brought to Camp Evans by helicopter as shipping containers. Each gray metal container opened up to make a railroad boxcar-like unit. The accordion walls of each box folded out to extend the sides of the structure. Along the bottom of the container were places in which to plug in the essentials to make a suitable operating suite. A turbine engine generator running on any kind of available liquid fuel supplied the electricity for lights, air conditioning and medical devices.

Other containers were assembled to form places for X-rays to be taken, lab specimens to be examined, mass casualties to be triaged.

It was a great improvement over the canvas tents used in other wars for care of the war-wounded. There was a real floor instead of dirt. Sterile conditions were possible.

Hannibal grunted his admiration for the advancements of battlefield medical practice since his stint in the Korean War. But all the progress in the world wasn't going to save Murdock if he had been too late to locate help.

He picked his way to the double-walled aluminum framed inflatable hospital ward and hoped he would not have trouble finding at least one of his men.

Feeling more alone than when he set out to find the army company responsible for the gunfire of the night before, he almost didn't stop at the nurses' station in the front entrance to the ward.

"Hey, wait a minute, soldier!" A young fatigue-clad female Sergeant jumped up from the battered metal desk at which she sat. "You can't just barge in there. May I ask who you are looking for?"

The petite redhead planted herself in front of Hannibal and put her hands on her hips. Any other time the Colonel would have thought the cute nurse was just being efficient but at this moment, she was an obstacle.

"I'm Colonel John Smith, one of the POWs the MedEvac chopper brought in a while ago. I'm looking for my men. Captain H. M. Murdock and Sergeant Bosco A. Baracus." He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

_It isn't this nurse's fault she has to make sure of who is visiting the ward. _

A strange look passed over her face. She straightened and saluted. "I'm sorry, sir. I have to know who's going in and out."

Hannibal gave her a weary smile. "I understand, Sergeant. I'm here to see my men if they are both out of surgery. Can you help me?"

"Sergeant Baracus is here but Captain Murdock required an X-ray of his knee before going in to surgery. He was not returned to this ward. If you want me to, I can check the intensive care unit for you." Her face relaxed into one of sympathy and concern.

Hannibal's stomach knotted. "Yes. Please do that. But while you're checking I would like to see my Sergeant."

"Yes sir. Follow me." At that, the nurse turned on her heel and escorted the Colonel to the bedside of one still groggy but also very anxious B. A. Baracus.


	37. Chapter 37 White Dogs and Invincibility

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 37 White Dogs and Invincibility

Through half-slitted eyes still struggling to open all the way, B. A. spotted the petite nurse who had been there when he began to wake a few minutes before. She passed through the doorway of the ward and bustled toward him. Immediately behind her, almost on her heels was the white-haired man he knew as his CO.

Hannibal was a welcome sight to wake up to. Almost but not quite as much as that cute little redheaded Sergeant that was now leaning over him, checking his arm.

The black Sergeant pushed himself into a sitting position on the bed. The bandages around his upper arm were such a brilliant white that he almost thought he was mistaken they were there. For weeks his life had been filled with dirty brown, lush green and POW uniform black. An IV in a vein in his lower arm affirmed to him what he thought he had only imagined.

He groaned as another realization hit him. Pushing the olive drab army blanket back, he swung one leg over toward the edge of the bed. "Murdock. Where's he at, man? Where is he?"

"Relax, B. A. Stay where you are." The Colonel brushed the nurse aside to push the big man's shoulders back onto the mattress.

The redhead hesitated, then backed away. "I'll go see if they have any record of your other man . . . Captain H. M. Murdock, was it? . . . over in the intensive care unit. And I'll see if he can have any visitors yet."

Hannibal turned an appreciative smile her way. "Thanks, Sergeant . . . ?"

"McKillian. Emily." She smiled back at both men. "Listen, Colonel Smith. The doctor's going to want to check you for injuries. You're probably going to be spending a little time in one of these beds yourself getting fluids and food in you."

"My other man . . . " Hannibal drew himself straighter.

"Oh, don't worry, Colonel. I'll make sure you get to see your man first. You're ambulatory, you're determined and I'm not about to try to hold you down for the doctor to check you. I can imagine you're as strong as _this_ guy when you don't want to cooperate." She winked at B. A. "I'll see you later, Sergeant, to check on your IV."

As the nurse left, Hannibal turned his full attention to the man in the bed. Before he could speak, B. A. interrupted.

"I didn't mean ta let him outta my sight, Colonel. One of 'em distracted me and b'fore I knew it, they stuck me with some knockout juice. Haven't seen the fool since." The muscular Sergeant balled one of his hands into a fist and held it up in Hannibal's face. "I find out who did it . . . " His voice faded and he dropped his hand back onto the bed. A memory of his fist hitting Murdock in the jaw and the pilot collapsing unconscious into his arms took away his momentary anger.

"You needed to have that bullet taken out and get treatment yourself. I know _my_ feet are just about shredded even with the cloth strips covering them. After walking all that distance carrying Murdock, I can't imagine your feet are in any better condition." The Colonel gestured with his head toward the black man's arm. "Are you in any pain right now? Can I get the nurse to get you anything?"

"No, man, nothin'." B. A. shook his head violently, then grabbed the Colonel by the arm. His dark eyes searched the worried blue ones of his CO. "Find out where they took my li'l brother. You know how bad he looked b'fore he was even _loaded_ onta the chopper. I gotta know he's still 'live, Hannibal."

The Colonel nodded and stood. "That's my next stop, Sergeant. I'll let you know as soon as I know, okay?"

He turned but before he could take more than two steps, B. A. called after him. "Tell the fool whether he's awake or not that I didn't carry him all that way for him _not_ ta get better. Tell him that for me, Hannibal."

A grim smile that B. A. couldn't see crept across the Colonel's face. "I'll make sure to tell him, B. A."

oooooo

"I'm not supposed to bring you back here yet," Sergeant McKillian whispered as they paused at the door to the intensive care section of the hospital complex. "But you look like the type of man who isn't going to allow us to do anything for you until I do. He isn't responding yet to anyone's voice."

She put a finger to her lips and shook her head at Hannibal as they entered.

Aside from an oxygen mask over his face and a second IV tube in his other arm, Murdock looked to be receiving almost the same kind of medical treatment as B. A. had been. The Colonel knew that wasn't true. The reason the pilot was here, separated from those men who were conscious and somewhat able to get around on their own, was because he wasn't either of those. And he was in the type of condition that required almost constant monitoring.

Subconsciously Hannibal's gaze wandered down to the outline of Murdock's body under the blanket covering him. The older man let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

_Thank God, at least for now they haven't thought it necessary to amputate that leg. _

He turned inquisitive eyes on the attending nurse as Sergeant McKillian made the introductions. "Colonel John Smith, this is Corporal Duggin. She can tell you more about Captain Murdock's condition than I can."

The Colonel flashed a concerned look at the nurse before scrutinizing the injured man once more. She gave him a nervous smile in return.

Sergeant McKillian spoke again, patting him on the arm and dismissing herself from the area. "Don't stay too long, Colonel Smith. Both you and he need rest and medical attention yet. I'll be seeing you back on the ward soon."

Hannibal absently nodded, his eyes on Murdock. The skin tone of the man's face had not improved. If anything, he had grown more pallid. The bruising on the right side was even more pronounced against the white pillow. His cheeks seemed hollower, his closed eyes more sunken, than when he was on the trail.

_But then I was more focused on his infected wounds and that knee than I was about anything else. _

Hannibal frowned. "His knee? His leg?" He kept his voice low and directed at Corporal Duggin.

"The surgeon did all he could to clean the wounds and drain the infection. He could tell you better than me what else he did. I do know that he's watching the leg for any signs of improvement. Until then . . . " She pursed her lips and gave the injured man in the bed a sympathetic glance.

"So I need to talk to the doctor to find out anything?" He hadn't meant to sound so impatient.

"Well . . . " She hesitated to say anything more. "I can see if the doctor is available to talk to you. You know that more patrols were sent out from Camp Evans a few days ago. We've had a few men come back from the field." She didn't expand on what she meant.

_She doesn't have to. I understand. We three aren't the only men they have to care for in this hospital. _

"Has he showed _any _signs of being aware of anything around him?" He tore his eyes away from Murdock to make eye contact with her.

Her mouth was a firm line as she shook her head.

"Can I talk to him for a few seconds?" He really didn't care whether she said yes or no at this point.

"I don't know if that would be a good idea. He hasn't been out of surgery that long and we're giving him a pretty strong dosage of morphine. Here, let me see if I can find Major Stinozza to talk to you."

Hannibal crossed his arms, realizing he would be more authoritative if he wasn't dressed in those damned black peasant clothes. Then he sighed. "Okay, Corporal. You do that."

As soon as she left, the Colonel approached the bed. Kneeling beside it, not sitting on it so as to prevent his movement from unduly disturbing the occupant, he took the other man's hand in his.

"Captain." He didn't know what else to say. Murdock's face remained peacefully smooth and relaxed. No pain. No response.

_Do I order him to fight everything inside him that seems intent on destroying him? Do I convey B. A.'s message? Do I tell him no one knows what happened to Face's group but there were signs they headed east at some point? What can I say to convince him to keep fighting? _

From behind him, someone cleared his throat. Standing up, Hannibal turned to find a man frowning at him. The dark hairs on both of his arms still bore the gory signs of having been in surgery moments before. His hands were encased in surgical gloves smeared with more blood.

"You're the POW Colonel who came in with this man on the dust-off?"

Hannibal was getting weary of introductions _. . . how many times do I have to go through this? . . . _but he knew to get answers, he had to comply with whatever this man wanted to know.

"My name is John Smith, Colonel, United States Army, 5th Special Forces. And you're the surgeon who took care of both of my men's injuries?"

The doctor was tall and as lanky as Murdock. His swarthy facial features hinted of a southern Mediterranean family ancestry but his height was incongruous to his skin tone and possible heritage. Uncrossing his arms, the man swiftly peeled off a bloodied surgical glove and held out his hand. "Major Aldo Stinozza, 18th Surgical Hospital." They shook hands and the surgeon's gaze fell upon his patient. "I suppose you're wanting some kind of status report on your men."

Hannibal nodded. "I saw Sergeant Baracus already, but, yes, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to know about their injuries."

The Major took in a breath and paused to analyze the man in front of him. "Until I examined your men's physical condition and wounds, I had heard only rumors of how the VC and NVA were treating their prisoners." His face creased into a scowl and he ran his ungloved hand over his face before continuing. He looked as if he were about to make additional angry comments but decided against it.

"The gunshot wound to your Sergeant's arm thankfully did not hit any major blood vessels. He'll have to undergo some therapy to keep the muscles from stiffening up but his wounds should heal enough for him to return to your unit before his thirty days are up. If he requires more time for his wounds, he'll be evacuated out-of-country." The doctor shrugged apologetically.

"Yeah, I know. Military policy." Hannibal knew the rules.

_Lots of men've been sent home because of that. Don't know if I feel sorry for them or envy them. _

"I won't know about any peripheral nerve damage in his extremities until we examine his reflexes and sense of touch. He also has open ulcerated sores on the soles of his feet. I debrided the ulcers and applied topical dressings with antibiotic ointment. He is to stay off his feet for a while until they heal sufficiently." The surgeon stared down at Hannibal's cloth-bound feet, then back up at him. "You will likely require the same treatment. He as well as Captain Murdock are suffering from acute malnutrition and dehydration as you are."

Doctor Stinozza smiled sadly. "Your Sergeant endured the torture of the camps well. His stamina and strength kept him alive."

"And Captain Murdock?" Hannibal's blue eyes bored into the medical man.

"Captain Murdock. Those wounds on the backs of his legs, his back and chest . . . what were they made by? Some of them are almost a foot in length." Stinozza frowned at the Colonel.

"Is that so very important, Doc?" Hannibal gave him an icy glare and then sighed. "It depended on what they had at hand. Broken fan belts, bamboo switches, mostly. You got to know which it was even without seeing it by the sound it made and the type of pain it inflicted. Each of us have the scars and wounds but his may be the worst because he was taken more often to be interrogated." And there was that same nagging question to which Hannibal had not found a completely adequate answer.

_Why him so much and not me? Or Captain Wilson?_

The Major shook his head in disbelief.

"Captain Murdock's condition?" Hannibal wanted nothing better than to stop talking about what they had endured and get back to what really mattered.

_Why are you stalling, Doc?_

"The bruises all along the right side of his body from head to foot . . . they were caused by . . . ?"

"The guards didn't like his expression of grief over the death of a friend. They got him down on the ground and used their rifle butts on him." The Colonel felt his irritation at the questions rising.

Major Stinozza nodded as if Hannibal had provided an answer to a puzzling problem. "That would explain it. The combination of an already infected wound near his knee with the blunt force trauma done by the guards' beating to the knee."

"Look. Tell me what you think is going to happen with him. Tell me what you found," the Colonel exploded. Both men turned to see if the outburst had disturbed Murdock but there was no response, not even a faint twitch. Hannibal's heart sank.

_Come on, Murdock. You've got to respond to something. _

The surgeon shook his head in understanding. "The infection from the leg wounds began to spread systematically. Some of the bacteria seeped into a small crack in the bone caused by the blows. It's part of the reason his knee swelled. It's called osteomyelitis. The X-ray revealed what appears to be an abscess around the bones of the knee joint."

"Will he lose his leg?" Hannibal asked the question in a murmur.

_If the answer is yes, he shouldn't have to hear it this way. _

Stinozza met the Colonel's gaze with honesty and answered in the same low voice. "It's too early for me to say yes or no. We're bombarding him with heavy amounts of antibiotics, including rifampicin and penicillin. The morphine will prevent him from moving very much and tearing out stitches. It'll take away the pain so he can rest and heal. We're going to continue to rehydrate his body. I'll continue to monitor the abscess and if the antibiotics we give him take down the infection, I won't have to resort to vancomycin. That can damage his hearing and his kidneys."

Hannibal tried to ignore that last statement, hoping it wouldn't come to that. "Can we visit him?"

The surgeon leveled an uncompromising look at the Colonel. "Only if you and your Sergeant allow yourselves some bed rest and healing time first. Maybe two days worth. All three of you have been through hell. None of you are invincible."

Hannibal suddenly realized he had not delivered B. A.'s message. Bending down to grasp the thin hand, he whispered in Murdock's ear, "B. A. said to tell you to get well soon. He's worried about you even if he won't admit it to you himself."

Major Stinozza motioned for Corporal Duggin. "Would you please escort the Colonel back to the ward so he can be examined and assigned a bed?" He glanced at the silver-haired man and nodded. "I'll keep you posted on his condition. You'll be the first to know if he wakes."

"Thank you, Major." Taking a last look at the sedated pilot, seeing no response, Hannibal wearily agreed and limped by Duggin's side, leaving Murdock to rest.


	38. Chapter 38 White Dog Neighbors

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 38 White Dog Neighbors

"Say hello to your neighbor, Colonel Smith," the nurse murmured as she helped him from the wheelchair to the bed.

Hannibal tried to hold back a small gasp of pain. He stood on his treated and freshly bandaged feet for only a moment before sitting on the mattress. The nurse lifted both of his legs onto the bed and pulled the blanket over him to his stomach.

_Yeah, laying down's definitely better. _

"There now. We're going to keep the water pitchers filled for both of you so you can get rehydrated and I'll check with the doctor to see what else you can have. It may not be steak and potatoes right away, I'll warn you." She rested a hand on the Colonel's shoulder and smiled down at him.

Hannibal was surprised to see he was assigned a bunk immediately to the right of B. A.'s bed. The redheaded Sergeant Emily McKillian made sure of that as a favor to the black man.

Someone had given the Sergeant a sponge bath. He lay back between crisp white sheets and a clean blanket but he looked like he wanted to be up and moving around.

"If you two men need anything while I'm on duty, make sure and ask." She said it to both of them but her eyes were on B. A. The fiery Irish nurse finished checking the dressing on B. A.'s upper arm, smiling at the Sergeant before leaving them.

"And I thought Face was good at scamming things." The Colonel cocked one eyebrow at the man in the next bed. "So I wonder if she's going to give me a bath and shave like she did for you."

B. A. shrugged and let his gaze follow McKillian down the row of beds to where she assisted a soldier who had an abdominal wound to prop himself better against his pillow. "She jus' bein' nice. An' she comes from Chicago, jus' like me." He frowned. "You heard anythin' from th' camp HQ 'bout where Faceman and the other two are?"

The Colonel shook his head. "No real signs of them. A patrol found some traces of someone who had struck out in an eastward direction from the stream but they couldn't follow the trail for long before it went dead on them." Hannibal noted the disappointment in the Sergeant's expression.

_Damn, I wish I could tell him more. _

"That ain' good. Man, how come they didn' keep ta the stream like ya tol' them?" The Colonel knew B. A. didn't mean the question to be answered but he wanted to give an encouraging response anyway.

"Maybe they ran up against enemy movement and needed to skirt it. Just the fact that whoever it is was covering their tracks may mean it was Face's group. And they're not being stupid. They're hiding their trail. They'll stay out of trouble."

"Maybe."

The two men mulled that over in silence. B. A. glanced over at Hannibal and drew in a long breath. "Ya gave Murdock my message?"

"I told him you were worried about him." The Colonel took a quick peek at B. A. to see if the wording bothered him. It didn't. "But I don't know if he heard me at all. He didn't show any signs of consciousness while I was there."

B. A.'s dark eyes flickered over Hannibal's face before he asked the next questions. "Did he look like he was any better? Doc didn't cut off his leg, did he?"

Hannibal paused.

_How much do I tell him without making him so upset he gets up and tears this place down piece by piece looking for Murdock? _

"No. The doctor is waiting to see if the circulation improves and the antibiotics kill the infection before he decides on that. I spoke to the surgeon himself." The Colonel wanted nothing better than to keep B. A. from speculating about what might happen. If they weren't permitted to leave their beds, it would be a long two days of almost continual worry over the pilot's condition.

As if the black Sergeant had read Hannibal's mind, he slammed one fist down beside him on the bed in frustration. "I'm gonna go crazy like the fool if I gotta lay here an' not know what's happenin' with 'im." He thought for a few minutes before a small smirk appeared on his lips. "Maybe Emily'll get us in ta see 'im sooner. Can't hurt ta try."

"Emily, huh?" The older man grinned. "First name basis, Sergeant?"

"Aw, Hannibal. She's jus' a nice kid tryin' ta get us healed up. But if anyone can get us over there to the other unit ta see the crazy man, I bet she can."

The Colonel couldn't be certain but the Sergeant's cheeks seemed to have acquired a light tinge of pink.

"He's on morphine. The doc says it's to keep him from tearing out stitches but he must have a good level of pain for them to give him that. I would say he probably won't wake up for a while. The intensive care nurse said she'd let me know." Hannibal folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling of the ward.

_If they'd let me, I'd put my bed right beside his and wait. But they won't permit that. _

"Fool drives me crazy a lot when he's awake. You know that. But he kept me from gettin' killed back there after you left us. I gotta tell 'im thanks." B. A. propped himself on his uninjured side on his arm, his voice low and determined, his eyes intensely focused on his CO.

"You said that before. What exactly happened?" Hannibal turned to face the Sergeant.

"He was talkin' crazy jibber-jabber th' night b'fore when we saw an' heard all the gunfire. He thought th' world was comin' to an end. Guess it did kinda look that way. Maybe he figured for him it was. Prob'ly knew how bad his leg was gettin'." B. A. licked his lips and shook his head.

_I knew he was getting to that point. But I had to leave them to get help. I sure am glad it was our guys giving us the show that evening._

Hannibal could almost see the painful memory of that night in the man's face.

"The next mornin' he was tryin' his best ta make me mad enough ta leave 'im there an' go lookin' for you. Man sounded like he figured he was gonna die sometime that day. Couldn' stand no more of that kinda talk so I went down ta the stream ta get ready ta move out. I'd just finished fillin' the canteen when I heard sounds like someone was strugglin'. Got up ta where I left Murdock an' he was gone. Didn' know where he'd got off to but I figured it was him that made the sounds." The Sergeant thought for a moment and frowned, then seemed to brush away whatever had come into his mind during the pause in the story.

Hannibal didn't allow his emotion over that revelation to show. No need for B. A. to know his speculation over what happened.

_He crawled away to die alone. I'd make bets on that. He knew B. A. would stay with him to the end. _

"An NVA soldier was comin' t'ward me an' we scuffled fer his rifle. He got off a lucky shot, hit me in the arm. Nex' thing I know I hear a crazy howl like the fool makes takin' off in a chopper an' the gook's turnin' 'way from me with a knife stuck in his back. He shot off another round an' I tackled 'im but he was already dyin'. I looked an' there was the fool layin' partly hidden in the weeds." B. A. reached for some water and drank before swiping his hand across his mouth. "He musta hid when he heard 'im comin'."

Something more was in the black man's expression, like a bond had been formed between the two men that would never be broken except by death. "He saved my life, Hannibal. I owe 'im big. Never got ta thank 'im proper."

"Sergeant, by taking care of him as well as you did, volunteering to carry him all that way, I think you may have saved _his _life. If they manage to save his leg, you were probably responsible for that, too, by keeping him off it. I know Murdock would call it even." Hannibal let the words sink in. "He'll thank you. And you know Murdock. That'll likely include a lot of hugs and craziness."

The Sergeant scowled but showed no other reaction. "If he wakes up, ya mean. Think he's gonna, Hannibal? And what'll we tell 'im 'bout Faceman?"

"_If_ . . . no . . . _when_ Murdock wakes up and we get to see him, I want us to try to avoid the subject of Face, Heller and Wilson. _And_ if he's going to keep or lose his leg."

"But you know he's gonna ask."

"I know he will. Tell him to direct all of his questions either to his doctor or to me if it makes you more comfortable."

B. A. nodded sympathetically. "That ain' gonna be easy for you, Colonel."

Hannibal settled back on the bed, his eyes directed to the ceiling above him, one arm under his head. "Comes with the job description, Sergeant."

_And times like this, I wish it didn't. How do you tell an injured man his best friend is MIA and he himself might be crippled for life? _

oooooo

"Here you go, Colonel, Sergeant." McKillian returned to their beds an hour later with two glasses with a nondescript liquid in them. "Drink this down. Doctor's orders."

B. A. sniffed at the contents, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. "What's this?"

"Thanks, Sergeant McKillian." Hannibal took the glass in his hand, savoring the idea of having something besides dirty lukewarm water.

"Please, call me Emily. It's a nutrient-rich drink you'll be having quite often until you both put some flesh back on your bones." She shrugged an apology. "I've heard it doesn't taste like much but if you drink this down, it won't be long before you can have more filling food." She gave them both a sly smile. "In fact, I know we have some milk and juice in the cooler and I got a care package from home with oatmeal cookies. I'd be willing to sneak a couple of them to you later with a glass of milk." Grinning, she added, "If you behave and you hide the crumbs."

The Sergeant hesitantly sipped at his drink. His grimace grew. "I guarantee there won' be no crumbs. Trust the Army ta make somethin' that's s'posed ta make ya strong an' healthy that don't have no taste to it. 'Bout as bad as the rice in the camp." Seeing the nurse's arms crossed and her eyes flashing at him in mock sternness, he sheepishly said, "Thanks" and gulped it down in five swallows. "Least it's chilled," he joked as he handed the glass back to her.

Hannibal drank his in a more leisurely manner and watched the two Sergeants as the nurse checked the bandages on B. A.'s feet and took his blood pressure.

"Any news on Captain Murdock?" the Colonel asked as he drained the glass.

Sergeant McKillian paused in her examination and stiffened slightly. Turning so she could address both men, she stared down at the floor for a moment. "He shows signs of waking."

The black Sergeant shot a triumphant look at Hannibal.

"But if he does, he'll be hurting plenty. He's being given morphine for a good reason. The surgeon had to do quite a bit of work on his knee joint and muscles. He took a longer than expected time to respond to voices after surgery."

B. A. touched her arm to get her attention. "Emily, that's why we gotta see 'im. He's gotta know we made it. We gotta make sure he don' give up."

"I'll try to see what I can do." Her eyes became misty. "You do know that you might be separated from him in a couple of days anyway. You both will likely be sent to Cam Ranh Bay to the 6th Convalescent Center to recuperate. If he recovers enough, he'll be sent there, too. If his leg doesn't improve as fast as Doctor Stinozza would like to see, he'll be shipped to the Da Nang Evacuation Hospital and from there, Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines and then home."

"The doc can't do that!" B. A. exploded, throwing back the covers and launching himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

"Sergeant Baracus!"

B. A. froze and gave Hannibal a furious scowl. "He can't, Hannibal. Tell 'er." Still grumbling, he allowed Emily to settle him back into the bed and pull the sheet and blanket back up to his stomach.

The Colonel caught the nurse's gaze. "Get us in to talk to Captain Murdock as soon as you can. Disguise us as nurses or top brass if you have to, invent an excuse, but let us see him. I know him. He won't take leaving his unit to go home very well. He'd be in a body bag before that happened. And he won't fight if he doesn't know we're alive."

"We've had to send too many boys back to the States like that. I'll find a way. I promise." Giving them a sad smile, Sergeant McKillian collected their empty glasses and left the ward.


	39. Chapter 39 The Last White Dog Alive

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 39 The Last White Dog Alive

In mid-afternoon, a slightly chubby blonde nurse carried a basin of warm water, a towel and a washcloth to Hannibal's bedside and helped him with a sponge bath. He took his time with the razor as he shaved off the accumulation of stubble from their time since leaving the camp.

When he finished he gave her a genuine smile. "You don't know how good it feels to use a razor you don't have to share with three other men. It isn't dull and rusty either."

She giggled as she took away the wash water. When she returned she brought the two men another pitcher of water, some orange juice and more of the nutrient drink.

"I can try to find you boys a deck of playing cards or a copy of _Stars and Stripes_ for you to look at." Her amused blue eyes scanned Hannibal's face. He grinned back. "That would be nice, Nurse . . . ?"

"Corporal Swenson. Call me Sheila." Her smile grew warmer as he winked at her. She massaged his shoulder briefly and left the ward.

B. A. snorted as soon as she was out of range. "So I ain' the only one's turnin' women's heads. Don't wanna hear any more jokes 'bout me an' Emily, Hannibal." The Colonel shrugged and grinned wider.

Hours passed. Just as B. A. readied himself to storm out to the nurse's station at the doorway to the ward and demand to see Murdock, Doctor Stinozza entered the room. Sergeant McKillian followed him to lend assistance. The nurse peeked at Hannibal and B. A. from across the ward as she followed the surgeon around from patient to patient. Her pleasant smile was gone, replaced by an anxious lip-chewing contemplation that made B. A. sit up on the bed.

"Emily don't look happy, Hannibal. Somethin's wrong." The black man watched her as she gave them a sad look from the opposite end of the room. Even from that distance, the two men could see the troubled frown on her face. The surgeon slowly made his rounds, his examinations of each man's injuries thorough.

While Doctor Stinozza checked the bandage and dressing on B. A.'s arm and the torn soles of both men's feet, McKillian kept her eyes averted to the floor. B. A. knew better than to press her for information until she came back to deliver supper trays and pitchers to the wounded men on the ward.

"The gunshot wound looks good so far but we'll keep an eye out for infection. As soon as your feet have had an opportunity to begin to heal, we may be looking at sending both of you to Cam Ranh Bay to finish your recuperation." Stinozza nodded his approval of their general health. "We'll continue to fatten you up with nutrient drinks and a bland diet until we're sure we've gotten rid of any parasitic worms you may have acquired in the POW camp."

"What? No roast chicken and mashed potatoes, doc?" Hannibal flashed the surgeon an impish smile as McKillian pulled the covers back up around his chest.

"'Fraid not, Colonel Smith. Your systems wouldn't properly digest the food with the worms there. You'll get a dosage of antiparasitic medication to help with that. I'll be back to see how you two are doing in the morning." The doctor marked something down on his clipboard and took a step toward the next bed in the row.

"Wait a minute, doc. You ain' said a word 'bout our buddy. How's he doin'? Is he awake yet?" B. A. reached for the surgeon's wrist and scowled up into his face.

"I told you I would let you know if there was any change in his condition, Colonel Smith." Stinozza pierced Hannibal with an impatient stare and refused to address B. A. "There isn't any change yet. Now if you gentlemen would excuse me." He pulled his arm from the black man's grip and moved on to the soldier with the head wound in the bed next to Hannibal's.

"That ain' good 'nough, doc. You ain' tol' us squat 'bout whether he's gonna make it or not, whether he's gonna have two legs ta stand on or not." The black Sergeant's voice rose as the doctor continued to ignore him.

"B. A." Hannibal shook his head at him in warning.

"Please, Sergeant." Emily placed her hands on his shoulders in a feeble effort to prevent him from vaulting from the bed to go after the closemouthed surgeon. She bent down and whispered in his ear. "Be patient, Bosco. I'll see if I can talk to Corporal Duggin and arrange a visit. But not when Doctor Stinozza is there. Okay?"

He glared at the retreating back of the physician and then into her pleading eyes. After a few seconds, he reluctantly nodded and relaxed onto the pillow behind his head.

"Good," she breathed. "I do know that your Captain hasn't opened his eyes but he has said a few things in his delirium."

"What's he been sayin'?" B. A. darted a quick look at his CO.

"Some of it's been Vietnamese but the one word Corporal Duggin has heard the most often is 'face.' She tries to reassure him that he doesn't have a head wound but he doesn't seem to understand. Poor man!" She saw the concerned gaze pass between the two men but before she could ask them what they knew, Doctor Stinozza called for her assitance.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Promise." She hurried to the doctor's side to help him turn a patient onto his side to better examine shrapnel wounds on his back.

"He's callin' for Face, Colonel." B. A. noted the obvious conclusion and grimaced. "What're ya gonna tell 'im?"

"I'll have to tell him the truth. It would be wrong to tell him otherwise. He'd want to see him. He'd _demand_ to see him."

The muscular Sergeant closed his eyes and frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But he ain' gonna take it well."

oooooo

Sergeant McKillian brought two oatmeal cookies apiece with two glasses of milk to Hannibal and B. A. in the early evening.

"My mother sent these to me. I finally got them a week ago." She blushed as Hannibal nodded his approval and B. A. took smaller than usual bites.

He savored the taste in his mouth before washing it down with a generous swallow of milk. "Bland diet nothin'. I'd go for a whole dozen of these."

The Colonel handed her his empty glass and chuckled. "This was the best thing I've eaten since, well, I don't know how long ago. Defininitely before the POW camp. I don't think the VC have your mother's recipe, Sergeant McKillian. We appreciate you sharing your care package with us."

She gave him a hesitant smile. "It's the least I can do. The other thing you wanted is a little more difficult to do for you."

B. A. wiped crumbs from his beard with one swipe and sat up straighter in bed. "We gonna be able ta see him or not?"

"I can't get both of you in at once. The best I can do is one at a time. Major Stinozza will skin me and Corporal Duggin alive if he found either of you there." She turned sorrowful eyes on the black Sergeant. "Your friend is very restless. The doctor thinks his pain level is pretty high even with the morphine. Marge, Corporal Duggin, thinks it's something else that's agitating him more than that."

"It is," B. A. rumbled, giving her a solemn gaze. "Colonel here had ta send a groupa three ahead of us. One a them was Murdock's best friend. His nickname was . . . is Face."

They could see her thinking about that. Her face crinkled with compassion. "And he doesn't know what happened to any of you?"

As the Colonel shook his head "no" he noted the sudden flash of determination in her eyes and smiled.

She looked from B. A. to Hannibal and crossed her arms. "Well, we'll make sure he knows he's not alone anymore. Which one of you wants to be first to see him?"

oooooo

He was lying on his back but the ground no longer felt stony and hard. Could have been an illusion though. The only reality was pain and plenty of it.

Murdock drifted in and out of levels of pain and consciousness. His leg burned with a fierce intensity one minute, then became a dull ache around the knee, then increased until he could have screamed.

_Why can't I die? It'd stop th' pain. _

He was certain none of his unit had survived. He called out their names, especially Face's name, several times but no one responded. You would think one of them could at least have reassured him if any were alive.

_Gone, all gone._

If his body wasn't in such a state of paralysis he would have cried and not been ashamed doing it.

Face, Heller and Wilson disappeared into the dense underbrush before he got an opportunity to say goodbye. Face had promised to buy him a Pro Hockey penny arcade game and then he was gone.

Hannibal left, too. Said he was going to scout the area ahead of them. He saw the stars falling that night after he left and knew something was wrong even if B. A. said there wasn't.

_Shoulda known Hann'bal was in trouble. Th' stars fallin' from th' sky tol' me that much. _

The last of them had been the Big Guy. Like a damn coward, he had crawled away to die and left B. A. unprotected. He remembered an NVA soldier grappling with the big mudsucker, firing several shots. Too late he attempted to join the fight. He had no memory after that.

_Face's gone. Hann'bal's gone. Wilson 'n' Heller. B. A. Maybe I'm gone too 'n' I jus' don' know 'nough t' let go._

Even though he was all alone, he knew he wasn't really. Billy had been talking to him, speaking comforting words about Heaven.

_Where Billy 'n' Ma are. Where there's no more pain. Maybe I'll see th' guys there. Gotta stay with my unit. _

He tried hard to open his eyes. Before he allowed himself to be absorbed into the darkness he wanted to take a last look around him, even if all he would see was the jungle of Vietnam from ground level.


	40. Chapter 40 White Dog Wakes

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 40 White Dog Wakes

So many layers of darkness to move through to get to the point where he thought he might be able to open his eyes. Face had always helped him struggle back to the land of the living after the most brutal interrogations.

_But Face's gone. He ain' here t' help me. _

He called Face's name anyway.

_Maybe I'm in a nightmare inside a nightmare. Maybe I'll open my eyes 'n' find myself back in th' hootch with th' guys. Maybe we didn' 'scape after all? _

He shuddered at that thought and once the shivering started, he couldn't stop it. The jungle around him had turned chilly. The cold was seeping into every bone in his body except those along his right leg. His entire leg was fiery hot with hellish pain that increased as time passed.

He heard voices, a male voice once in a while, but more often female voices. They called his name, seemed to be talking about him. It wasn't Vietnamese he was hearing. It was English.

There was something confusing about that. If he was still on the ground where he had crawled to die, if jungle still surrounded him, or if he was still in the hut in the POW camp, then why was he hearing women? Why was he hearing voices speaking American English?

A wave of hot pain coursed through the leg again. He felt his heart race at an erratic tempo. His lungs felt unable to take in any more than what he could manage in short, rapid breaths. His brain swirled in confusion.

_Open yer eyes. Get yer bearin's. _

A grim memory inserted itself front center in his mind: the image of Luke Cassel's naked corpse being carried past by Heller and Greenberg to an unmarked shallow grave beyond the camp's perimeter.

Would two of the guys have to do the same for him?

_No, I promised Hann'bal. Tol' 'im I'm a survivor. Can' go back on a promise. _

In his darkening mind, he wrestled with wraith-like shapes that clutched at him and threatened to pull him back into their domain.

He tried to yell at them. "Hãy để tôi một mình! (Let me alone!)"

His only possibility of escaping them was if his buddy helped. "Face?"

One of the black figures tightened its hold on his shoulder. With a wild swing that connected with nothing, he broke free and managed to partially open his eyes.

oooooo

B. A. insisted on being the first to sneak into the intensive care unit to see Murdock. Hannibal had visited him already. He wanted to see first hand that the crazy pilot was still breathing.

On crutches Nurse McKillian commandeered for him, he made his way through the ward. She walked beside him, watching carefully to make sure he was not over-exerting himself.

She did not need to worry. As they went, B. A. took in the variety of wounds the surgeons had encountered in the last week. Many had far worse injuries than he had.

_But all of these guys'll prob'ly live ta go back home or back to active duty. Don' know if Murdock will 'r not. _

He frowned as he thought about what he might say to the pilot if he found him awake and lucid enough to talk.

_What can I say? Hannibal an' I'm here but we may not be for long? Faceman didn' make it here an' we don't know where he's at? _

No, Hannibal said to avoid the subject, to allow him to be the one who gave Murdock the unpleasant news.

"When we get there, Marge will probably be somewhere nearby. That's Corporal Duggin's first name. She was assigned to him almost as soon as he arrived." Emily slowed her pace even more as they negotiated a rough place in the floor between wards.

"A personal nurse?" B. A. raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Emily's expression turned grim and she hesitated. "Not exactly. When he first got here, the corpsman labeled him 'expectant.'"

"Huh?" The only 'expectant' B. A. knew about was women who were going to have a baby.

"'Expectant' means he was very close to death. We try to never _ever_ let someone in our care die alone."

B. A. stopped in place, glanced at her and then at the ward they were about to enter.

The nurse attempted to cover her verbal blunder. "But he came through surgery and there have been small improvements. She stays close by but it's not as urgent as when he first arrived."

The black Sergeant looked deep into her eyes, unsure he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "You ain' just sayin' that, are ya, li'l momma?"

She gave him a faint smile. "No, I'm not just saying that. He is still in pretty bad shape but his chances of living are much better."

As they neared Murdock's bed in the intensive care ward, B. A. heard the Captain calling out for his best friend.

"Face?"

The voice was raspy and weak but a welcome sign of improvement from what Hannibal reported he had seen and the last sight B. A. had of his friend.

He recognized the tone of the Captain's cry. It was the same tone the pilot used when he came back from interrogations with eyes so swollen shut and a mind so shattered from a beating that he couldn't tell who surrounded him anymore. But it meant Murdock was aware enough to hold off death.

_He's fightin' ta live an' that's the main thing. Even if it ain' me he's askin' for. _

For a moment, the Sergeant felt a pang of jealousy over the close friendship the Lieutenant and the pilot shared.

_But I ain' given him any reason ta think of me as a friend, jus' someone who's always callin' him 'fool' an' tellin' him I'm gonna kill 'im if he keeps up his jibber-jabber. _

B. A. hobbled over to a chair beside the bed and allowed Emily to help him sit down. He nodded at Corporal Duggin, busily checking the heart monitor and the morphine drip. Unlike Emily who was clothed in her Army fatigues, Marge Duggin wore a white button down nurse's uniform.

"Hãy để tôi một mình! (Let me alone!)" The hoarse whisper sounded like something between a warning and a cry for help.

The black man clenched his fists and glanced up at Emily. "Murdock mus' think he's still in the camp."

Both nurses gave the man in the bed a sympathetic look. Nurse McKillian placed her hand on B. A.'s uninjured arm as the pilot rasped out "Face?" again. He gave her a tense half-smile.

The Corporal rested her hand on Murdock's shoulder in an effort to calm him. "Captain, you're with friends." That was all she managed to say. In the next moment, she staggered backward as she ducked the wild swing the injured man took at her.

"Crazy fool!" B. A. quickly scanned the intensive care nurse to make sure his friend's fist had not connected, then glared directly into the clouded brown eyes that had just opened. "What you do that for? She only tryin' ta help ya, ya crazy fool!"

"B. A.?" The pilot's voice sounded so confused and forlorn that the black man found he couldn't remain upset with him for very long.

B. A. shot the Corporal an apologetic look. "Sorry if he scared ya."

The nurse smoothed her uniform skirt down with two brisk movements. "No problem, Sergeant. It was my fault. I should have remembered to use caution."

"Ah'm not th' only one?" Murdock whispered. He ran his tongue over his chapped lower lip and frowned.

"No, yer not. What gave ya that idea?" B. A. paused before reaching out and gripping the pilot's hand in his own.

Murdock snorted softly and, closing his eyes, smiled faintly. "Good," he murmured.

"Hey, crazy man. I'm here fer a visit. Don't go back ta sleep on me." B. A. tightened his hold on the hand just enough to cause the pilot to react.

"Ow!" The eyelids opened again. The glare he received was both groggy from the morphine and accusatory.

"Listen. Ya gotta start gettin' better. I didn' carry ya all that way jus' ta have ya lay on yer ass suckin' up all this pretty li'l gal's attention for weeks on end." B. A. hoped that was light-hearted enough to prevent the pilot from thinking more deeply about other things. He didn't want Murdock to go back to sleep. He looked too much like he had died when he did.

_But I don't wanna have 'im thinkin' about his leg an' Faceman neither._

"Pretty?" Murdock's puzzled brown eyes wandered from the black Sergeant to Emily and then to the other side of his bed and Marge Duggin. "Oh."

B. A. saw a small amount of embarrassment in the injured man's expression.

Marge moved closer to the bed and rested her hand on his shoulder again. "I guess the Sergeant's talking about me. I'm Corporal Duggin. Marjory Duggin. But you can call me Marge."

Their eyes locked and Murdock weakly nodded. "Howdy." He licked his lips again and swallowed. His eyelids slid halfway shut.

"Emily here snuck some oatmeal cookies in fer me an' Hannibal. If ya want any 'fore we eat 'em all up, ya'd better stay 'wake an' show yer doctor ya ain' dyin'." The Sergeant noted a shared look between the two nurses and Emily's small frown.

_Did I say somethin' wrong? _

"Good t' know . . . yer . . . okay, Big Guy." Murdock sighed softly and let his eyes close all the way.

Corporal Duggin slipped a blood pressure cuff around the pilot's arm and glanced at B. A. "I'm afraid he won't be much company for a while. He really needs his rest. But he needed to know you were alive, too. I think it meant a lot to him."

"Meant a lot ta me too, Corporal. Thanks." With Emily helping, B. A. stood up and positioned the crutches under his arms. He couldn't help giving Murdock one more anxious look. The pilot's face was far from peaceful. A pain-filled grimace passed across his features and he shivered slightly. "Take good care of him. He's th' only pilot my team's got that knows his stuff."

The intensive care nurse smiled and murmured, "We will." He watched her turn back to her patient and the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

As the Sergeant picked his way back to the other ward and his own bed, he thought about his last statement.

_Team? There's only me an' Hann'bal left of our team 'less th' Army's gonna stick some green recruit with us that'll get killed first time out. But I meant what I said 'bout the fool. Be a shame for him ta be grounded for long._

oooooo

"He woke up, Hannibal. He talked ta me." B. A. tried to keep his elation low key but inside he was cheering. _When we get back ta the States, I'm gonna bring him 'round ta see my Momma. He'll like that. Momma'll love 'im, too. _

Hannibal smiled. "I'll go see him a little later on after he's rested for a while." He reflected back to the last conversation he had with Murdock while they were in the POW camp. _I guess I'll get to show Murdock that white Christmas in Detroit after all. I can hardly wait to see his expression when he sees that huge Christmas tree in front of Hudson's Department Store. _

oooooo

Murdock dreamed about chasing wispy white clouds with the comforting _thump-thump _of rotor blades beating the sky. There was no pain, no screaming ensnared white rabbits, only the mischievous twinkle in Hannibal's eye and the rumbling protest of B. A. as he skimmed over the Vietnamese countryside. He maneuvered the bird far above the jungle canopy where enemy fire could not hit them. Higher and higher they went until he thought they could almost touch the sun.

And then he grinned back at his passengers and realized Face was not there.

The chopper began to fall from the sky and nothing he did could stop it from crashing.


	41. Chapter 41 White Dog Plans a Way

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 41 White Dog Plans a Way

If what he saw was in any way true, he couldn't sleep now. Not when Face was missing. Not when his chopper was about to go down. Not when Hannibal and B. A. needed him to be steady and sane while he was trying to land the bird. Murdock willed himself to resurface from the morphine-induced dreamworld he was in.

_Ah gotta shake this fog. No time t' be sleepin' at th' controls. Ah can' let Hann'bal 'n' th' Big Guy down. _

Even in his semi-conscious state, he felt a tiny grimace twitch at the corners of his mouth.

_Can' let 'em down lahk that, crashin' th' bird. Big Guy'd stomp me int' th' groun' if he could fin' 'nough pieces o' me t' do it. _

His hands curled around an imaginary cyclic and collective but he couldn't see well enough to know precisely where the clearing was. The throbbing in his brain was keeping time with what he heard of the chopper engine as it made the rotor blades rotate above and behind him. His head felt like it had grown three sizes too big for his helmet.

_Damn things anyways. Ah know it's s'posed t' protect me from a head shot but times like this, it's jus' a nuisance. _

He tried to reach up to remove his helmet and discovered his arms were too heavy for the rest of his body. He struggled to bring his hands up to his head anyway. Moments later he felt a firm grasp on his forearms, holding him down.

"Captain Murdock. It's all right. You're safe. Go back to sleep." A feminine voice penetrated through his dulled senses but made no sense at all.

_'Less either B. A. 'r Hann'bal had a snip-snip op'ration that made 'im a soprano 'r we took on a gal as a passenger, I ain' in a chopper. Where th' hell am I then? _

Curiosity made him push toward the boundaries of light and darkness that separated him from what he understood now to be the real world.

Forcing himself into consciousness reintroduced him to pain. It came in waves and radiated from his leg into the other joints of his body.

It also brought bits and pieces of his visit with B. A. back to his mind.

The face of the pretty nurse B. A. introduced him to, a corporal, if he remembered right, swam into view as he struggled to open his eyes.

"Captain Murdock?" Her emerald green eyes scrutinized him, watching for signs he realized where he was.

His mouth was dry, too dry to respond. He tried to collect enough spit in his mouth to moisten it and let him talk but couldn't. Instead, he swallowed. The click it made in his throat seemed as loud as the sound of a gun hammer being cocked.

_How'd mah mouth get so dry? _

She was waiting for a response so he nodded, a small movement but noted by the white-uniformed nurse. Her warm smile crinkled the sides of her eyes in a way that reminded him of Cyndy back home.

"Doctor Stinozza increased the dosage of morphine you were getting. That's what's drying out your mouth so much. That and the fever you've been running."

_Fever? Morphine? Mah leg . . . _

He had to know. He heard of guys that had lost a leg and had phantom pain after the amputation. He fought to raise his head and managed to catch a glimpse of the outline of his feet . . . two feet . . . under the blanket before he collapsed back into the pillow.

"Leg's still there," he whispered, unable to cry in relief, and searched her face for affirmation.

Another beautiful smile. Another reminder of his girl waiting for him back in Texas.

"Yes, it is. Can I get you a little water? You'll have to sip it slowly but anything you can start taking in by mouth will help you to heal." When he nodded again, she disappeared for a few minutes.

It gave him an opportunity to collect his thoughts which seemed at the moment to be swirling around as fast as debris in the outer edges of a twister.

He remembered B. A. telling him he wasn't the only one left. He _thought_ he heard Hannibal's voice at some time before he saw B. A. Parts of his nightmare came back to him and he panicked thinking about Face all alone in the jungle.

At the same time, he began to formulate a way he could locate and rescue his buddy. If he was at a hospital that meant he had likely been brought there and not through the jungle either. A hospital meant there would be med-evac choppers.

Commandeering a chopper meant gaining a birds' eye view of the jungle and possibly anyone moving on the ground. It didn't matter how small of a clearing he found Face in. He would get the bird down close enough to the ground to extract him, without assistance if that was what it took.

But first he would have to get his senses back in working order. To do that, he had to make the doctor and nurses believe he didn't need morphine anymore. Even if it meant going half-crazy from the pain.

oooooo

"Captain Murdock is awake and asking for you, Colonel Smith." The army surgeon frowned at the white-haired man on the bed. "I'm not in favor of having you wander around on those feet, as lacerated as they are." When B. A. stared at him with undisguised resentment, he hesitated, then sighed in frustration. "If it gives him encouragement and a will to live, then I will approve a visit."

Nurse McKillian stared down at the floor as the doctor spoke but Hannibal and B. A. both noticed a tiny smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She shot the Sergeant an amused glance. He returned it with a wink when the doctor wasn't looking.

"I'll go get a wheelchair, Doctor," she murmured and excused herself.

The surgeon nodded absently at her. "Your pilot is either one tough soldier or crazy. I'm certain he's in pain but for the last four hours he's been threatening to tear out the IV if we give him any more morphine. Says some aspirin will do just as well."

B. A. growled an angry curse before muttering, "What's the fool tryin' ta prove, Hannibal?"

"You haven't let up on the morphine, have you, Doc?" Hannibal surveyed the surgeon's face with a degree of sympathy. The doctor was trying to do his best to repair so many injuries and provide as much comfort as he could under the circumstances. Then he had patients like Murdock to contend with.

"What could I do? He pulled the IV out once already. If he can stand the pain, I'll have to grant his request." Stinozza furiously rubbed the side of his face with one hand, then glanced at Hannibal.

"I'll talk to him."

"I sure wish you would. Maybe order him to allow us to do what we have to do. He doesn't need to be a hero with this." The doctor leveled a pair of weary eyes at the Colonel as Emily backed a wheelchair in beside the bed. He watched her assist Hannibal into the chair. With a faint smile, he nodded at B. A. and Hannibal and went to check on his next patient.

"Give 'im hell from me, Hannibal. Tell 'im ta take his medicine or he'll hafta tell _me_ why not." The black Sergeant winced as he said it. For once, threatening Murdock with violence if he didn't do something didn't feel right.

Hannibal saw through his threat and placed a hand on the big man's shoulder. "It's alright, B. A. I'll try to get to the bottom of it and, if need be, give him an order he can't refuse."

Emily slowly wheeled the chair toward the intensive care ward as Hannibal wondered if he really could get Murdock to comply with an order to allow something he clearly didn't want.

And why was Murdock refusing the painkiller to begin with?

oooooo

"Captain." Hannibal wondered if the doctor had been mistaken. Murdock seemed to be in a restless sleep state when Emily pushed the chair close to the bed.

The eyelids opened slowly. The Colonel noted the glazed slightly unfocused appearance of the brown eyes as Murdock turned his attention toward him.

"Colonel." He blinked once, then mumbled, "Ya don' know how good it is t' see ya." His tight smile and strained tone betrayed the amount of pain he was in.

_He isn't fooling me one bit. _

"Doctor Stinozza tells me you've been a bad patient." Hannibal raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

The corners of the pilot's mouth twitched with anger and he turned his face away.

"The morphine'll deaden the pain and let you have the rest you need in order to heal. Why are you being stubborn about it?" When Murdock seemed not to be forthcoming with an answer, the Colonel touched his shoulder to get his attention. The Captain refused to give it at first.

_Come on, Murdock. Look at me. Talk to me. _

Instead the pilot quietly asked a question of his own. "I gotta know somethin, Hann'bal, 'n' I need ya t' tell me th' truth." The brown eyes turned to the older man with such earnest pleading that Hannibal almost flinched. "Where's Face?"

_There's the question I've been dreading. _

The Colonel averted his solemn blue gaze. For a few seconds he said nothing.

_How do I answer? _

Then Murdock sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn! I knew it! It wasn't a dream." He carelessly brought the arm with the IV tube delivering the lactated Ringer's solution up and over the top half of his face.

"It doesn't automatically mean he, Heller or Wilson were recaptured or killed. They could still be making their way toward friendly forces." Hannibal felt like he was trying to encourage a jaded teenager to believe in a miracle.

_And maybe I am._

"Coulda been avoided, ya know. Didn' hafta keep th' dead weight in th' group. Coulda left me. Ya coulda kept th' rest o' the group t'gether if ya didn' have me slowin' ya down."There was a faint tremor and huskiness to the voice that wasn't there moments before. "Face'd be here 'live. Wilson 'n' Heller, too."

"Murdock, look at me."

The Captain shook his head, eyes still closed, arm still draped over his face. "No, Colonel." Seconds passed, the only sounds the moans of other injured men and Murdock's hitching breaths as he fought to control his emotions.

Just as suddenly he turned flashing angry eyes on Hannibal and spat, "Have they at least tried t' look for 'em?"

The older man frowned. "When I found help, the company that was out there was engaged in searching for the enemy. They sank a sampan carrying arms. There have been wounded soldiers streaming in here at a fairly constant rate since we arrived. Not large numbers like after a major skirmish but enough to show that the enemy is out there and fairly close. They haven't had _time_, Murdock." The Colonel hoped his words would quell some of the anguish he heard in the voice.

_Damn it! Nobody can help that there's a war going on. They can't drop everything for those three men. _

The pilot fell silent, scanning the older man's face as if measuring the next words he would say. His eyes burned with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Then his expression changed.

With a chilled unnerving composure Murdock nodded once and muttered, "Thanks fer yer honesty, Colonel. Now if ya don' min' I'm a li'l tuckered out." He turned his face away and closed his eyes.

With a sad frown, Emily moved behind the wheelchair to bring Hannibal back to his own ward.

He left, knowing he had failed. Even if he had attempted to order Murdock to allow the administration of morphine to deaden the pain, he knew the pilot would not comply. He could only guess why the Captain was refusing the painkiller.

_Is it guilt? Or something else? _

He wished he knew.


	42. Chapter 42 White Dog Makes a Comeback

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 42 White Dog Makes a Comeback

"Your condition has improved enough for me to move you out of intensive care, Captain. I'm going to allow you to have a bed in the general ward close to your two friends."

It had been a day since Hannibal's visit. The pilot was in constant pain with his knee but had managed to mask all signs of it when the doctor or nurses were around. He barely slept at all for fear he would have a nightmare or otherwise show how much he was hurting. When nobody was looking he clenched his fists tightly.

Murdock looked up at Doctor Stinozza and attempted not to grimace as the surgeon examined his injured leg. Internally he was ecstatic.

_I'm one step closer t' bein' able t' go lookin' for Faceman. _

"The red streaking has begun to fade which indicates the course of antibiotics is working against the sepsis. Your vital signs have not been fluctuating as much as when you first arrived and you don't need a round-the-clock nurse in attendance. In other words, you've turned the corner and I can safely say you won't die or lose your leg. I need this bed for soldiers who are in worse condition than you."

Murdock forced his voice to take on a playful tone. "But me 'n' Corporal Duggin here were gonna go dancin' t'night, Doc!"

The surgeon leveled a pair of serious eyes on him.

_Mus' have too much starch in 'is shorts. _

The pilot smirked and raised his eyebrows at the nurse. "Right, Margie?"

Stinozza shook his head and proceeded on to the next patient in the intensive care ward. Nurse Duggin prepared Murdock for transfer to the general ward.

The pilot winked at her and whispered behind his hand, "What he don' know won' kill 'im. How's 'bout we do a li'l moonlight dancin', darlin'?"

She paused and chuckled at his last words. "You know, maybe we _will_ share a dance some time before you get shipped to Cam Ranh Bay, Captain. Most likely not tonight, but sometime. I bet you're a fine dancer." She patted his hand and smiled into his amused brown eyes.

_Cute gal. If I didn' have a gal waitin' for me back home . . . _

He was going to miss Corporal Duggin's sweet smile, so much like Cyndy's. But this move was important. There would be less surveillance in the general ward, more opportunity to move around.

Sergeant McKillian and Corporal Duggin both accompanied the gurney carrying him to his new quarters. When they were finally moving, Murdock closed his eyes in relief.

With a grateful sigh, the pilot focused his energy and mind on numbing his pain without resorting to asking for morphine. It was difficult to make his voice sound relaxed. He had to force himself not to grimace or tense his muscles as the pain in his knee continued to incessantly throb from the physician's examination.

If the doctor or nurses suspected he was in pain, he knew they would make sure he got enough painkillers to deaden it. It would deaden his senses at the same time and he couldn't afford to let that happen.

The sound of Hueys being landed not that far from the building reminded him of his buddy, Heller and Wilson out in the jungle and what he had to do to find them.

_Fooled Stinozza. Here comes the hard part, foolin' th' Big Guy 'n' Hann'bal. They know me a lot better. 'Specially Hann'bal. _

The red-haired Sergeant smiled at B. A. as they passed his bed. She wheeled the pole with the bottle of IV fluids as Marge Duggin pushed the gurney.

"You two have company," Emily announced. "And he'll have the bed next to yours, Colonel." She smirked at the white-haired officer. "Now _you_ can keep him out of trouble."

"Trouble? Now, darlin', ah _never _make trouble ah can't squirm outta," came the frail protest from the Captain.

_What's wrong with me? That small trip from intensive care t' here jus' 'bout did me in. _

The black man peered closely at the pilot. "He don' look no better th'n when I got ta see him."

There was an audible weak chuckle from Murdock as the nurses positioned the two beds side by side for the transfer.

"Helluva lot better'n I was, Big Guy. But I see you ain' changed. Yer still the ugliest mudsucker 'round." Even though he shot a goofy grin toward the occupant of the other bed, Hannibal and B. A. noticed how much he trembled as Emily and Marge assisted him to move. The two men gave each other worried glances.

When Murdock finally lay back against the pillow, he was clammy with sweat and very pale. Marge pressed her palm to his forehead and adjusted the blanket over him.

He brought a shaky hand up to push away her attention. "All this fuss for li'l ol' me?" Smiling, he pretended to bat his eyelashes at her. He grasped her by the wrist and looked directly into her eyes. "That dance we were talkin' 'bout? Maybe t'night under th' stars? Las' call. How 'bout it?"

He didn't mean it. Just the thought of putting weight on that leg made him involuntarily shiver.

_But I gotta put on th' act. Get 'em lookin' th' other way. Make 'em think I'm feelin' better 'n I am so I can sneak out first chance I get._

Marge hid her amusement as she removed her hand from his and caressed the side of his face for a moment.

B. A. snorted. "You been takin' lessons from Faceman in gettin' women, fool?"

At the mention of his friend, Murdock glanced sharply at the black man. B. A. caught the bitterness behind the look and ducked his head in an unspoken apology.

The pilot continued to glare at the Sergeant and finally sighed and turned his face the other way.

_He didn' mean nothin' by it. It was jus' bullshittin' 'round but it still hurt. God, I hope by th' time I get up in th' sky I can find 'im. _

He heard Hannibal mutter a warning to B. A. "Be careful with what you say."

Closing his eyes to avoid their scrutiny, Murdock did something he hadn't done for a long time. He prayed like his Gramma taught him so many years before.

_God, I gotta go look for my buddy 'cause no one else will. Ya gotta get me up in the sky, show me where t' find 'im. Ya gotta protect him 'n' th' other guys 'til I can find 'im. Please?_

When he finished, he was glad he turned his head away from the others. Silent tears dotted the pillowcase as he lay there emotionally and physically exhausted, wondering if God would answer.

oooooo

Hannibal secretly watched Murdock throughout the day. The pilot kept up a good-humored banter with B. A., teasing him when Emily spent extra time caring for his gunshot wound or lacerated feet.

Something about the Captain wasn't quite right. His eyes seemed too bright for there not to be fever or pain and his skin was still very pale. His voice seemed strained at times. He was trying too hard to be cheerful and alert.

When Nurse McKillian delivered hot meals of hamburger steak, mashed potatoes and peas to B. A. and Hannibal, the Captain gave the redhead a pronounced pout. He was still being fed a semi-soft diet. He sulked so much, she relented and brought him two oatmeal cookies from her care package.

"Ah, mi young lassie. Ya stirred mi heartstrings, ya did," he crooned to her in a Scottish lilt as he accepted the cookies from her. She blushed and turned her attention to the IV which was administering the antibiotics and saline solution to restore his electrolyte balance.

He nibbled at one cookie and hid the other under the pillow. Tugging at the sleeve of her olive-green shirt he gestured for her to bend closer to him. His whisper was accompanied by an even more pronounced blush on the nurse's face and a small giggle.

Before she left to tend to another soldier's bandage a few beds away, she raised her eyebrows at the black Sergeant and then glanced back at Murdock. He nodded as if to assure her of something.

"I'll be back a little later, Bosco. Alright?" She smiled at the Sergeant and turned a deeper shade of pink.

B. A. smiled back at her with a confused expression on his face. As soon as she left, he turned to scowl across Hannibal's bed at Murdock.

"What'd ya tell her, fool?"

The pilot was studiously examining the cookie in his hand. He feigned an innocent look as he shrugged and took another small bite.

"Tol' her ya needed 'nother sponge bath. Ah can smell ya all th' way over here."

He smirked at the growl he heard rumbling from deep inside the Sergeant's chest. It was followed by a threat. "Tell her anything else like that an' you'll be takin' _your_ nex' sponge bath in a rice paddy."

Murdock snickered and shifted his position in bed to see B. A. a little better.

Hearing the friendly banter between the two, Hannibal grinned. Then he turned thoughtful eyes on Murdock as he noticed the other man briefly squeeze his eyes shut and clench his teeth. He almost didn't catch the signs.

_This is ridiculous. If he needs painkillers for his knee, there's no shame in that. But how do I approach the subject with him? I can't order him to accept the help._

The pilot took a few measured breaths before speaking again. When he did, his tone was serious. "Ah sure am glad t' be back with ya guys. Th' Corporal was sweet 'n' all but ah missed ya'll somethin' fierce." Hannibal noticed the Texas drawl had become more noticeable.

B. A. grunted as if to dismiss the pilot's words. "Didn' miss th' jibber-jabber. Now there ain' gonna be _any_ peace an' quiet."

Murdock kissed the palm of his hand and blew the kiss in the general direction of the big Sergeant. "That one's jus' fer you, Big Guy." He gave B. A. a gleeful look when the black man's scowl deepened.

"Hannibal!" the big Sergeant grumbled.

The Colonel crossed his arms and smiled again but refused to enter into the argument.

"That cookie was lahk a taste o' home. Nurse Em'ly sure is a special li'l gal, ain' she?" Murdock yawned and snuggled his head deeper into the pillow. His words were a soft slurred murmur. "Wake me up fer breakfas', 'kay guys?"

Within minutes the pilot drifted off to sleep.

Hannibal and B. A. played gin rummy until they were sure he was sleeping soundly. Then they too called it a night.

oooooo

_He reveled at the sight of the jungle canopy below him and wispy clouds around him. The Huey's controls were responding to his touch as if the helicopter and he were one well-tuned machine. He was enjoying the feeling of being in the sky again but now was not the time for those kinds of thoughts._

"_Tha's a good girl. You 'n' me, we're gonna find my buddies, ain' we?" he purred to the chopper as the skids skimmed the tops of the trees. _

_Looking down, he saw and then followed the outer edge of a rice paddy. He almost didn't catch the movement at first. Three figures dressed in black rags tentatively raised their heads and looked up at him from behind the shelter of a muddy ditch. He scanned the perimeter of the paddy for any other signs of life._

_A line of NVA soldiers hid in the tree line a couple hundred yards from the POWs he had just spotted. He had no doubts in his mind the three men were Face, Wilson and Heller._

"_How'm I gonna drop this birdie 'nough for them to climb on board without the gooks seein' them?" he thought to himself. Even as that question came to his mind, fog rolled in over the paddy and hid all the figures from his view. The blinding whiteness was so thick it made the rotors seize and stop. The chopper plummeted from the sky . . . _

. . . and Murdock woke, sweat drenching the sheets and the light blue shirt and pants he wore. He gritted his teeth to prevent his anguished scream from escaping into the early morning gray light.

_Did I make any noise? Is anybody else 'wake? _

As soon as he was able to get his heart to settle down, he cautiously peeked around him. Everyone else on the ward seemed asleep. If he was going to make his move, now was the time. He heard the sound of rotor blades beating the sky above the camp.

_Incomin'. In th' confusion, maybe I gotta chance o' gettin' hold o' some transportation. _

Carefully peeling back the tape, he removed the IV tubes from his arms and let the needles fall to the floor. He tucked the oatmeal cookie, wrapped in a napkin, in a pocket of the pants.

_Face 'n' the guys'll be hungry when I find 'em. 'N' now I think I know where t' look first. _

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and prepared himself for the jolt of pain he knew would follow when he put his full weight on his right knee.

_It's now 'r never._

oooooo

"Wilson ain' gonna hol' out fer much longer, Lieutenant. Look at 'im. We keep goin' east but we ain' seen none o' our guys." Heller shook his head as he prevented the Navy pilot from pitching face first into a muddy ditch.

Wilson's features pinched as another wave of abdominal pain shot through him. He sat down hard in the murky water and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Ah'm fine. We gotta keep goin'. Somewhere east o' here's th' South China Sea." He groaned. "'Less we got turned 'round 'n' are headin' inta Laos by now."

"Okay already!" Face snapped. He scrubbed at his mouth and left muddy streaks. "Maybe I should have stuck to Hannibal's plan and stayed by the stream. But you remember how close that group of NVA soldiers were to us? We still can't be sure they didn't pick up our trail and are following us even now." Face muttered the words to the other men while standing watch over them as they rested.

"Aw, I ain' blamin' ya. They was jus' 'bout t' stumble onta us back there. These rice paddies all look th' same t' me." Heller frowned at the leeches he saw on his and Wilson's legs. He absently took the knife Face offered and began scraping the bloodsuckers off his friend.

"They don' look no diff'rent from th' air, b'lieve me," Wilson croaked. He managed a smile. "Wonder if Murdock 'n' th' others made it."

Face peered up at the sky, worry in his expression. "God, I hope so." Glancing at the other two men, he shook his head. "Knowing my buddy, if he made it, he's going to be looking for us. Somehow, somewhere, he's going to get a bird up in the air and find us."

"I had the same feelin' mahself, Lieutenant." Heller paused in what he was doing and placed a comforting hand on Face's shoulder. ""When he gets an idea stuck in 'is craw, he don' let go that easy. He ain' dead. 'N' someone's gonna fin' us sooner 'r later. Jus' a matter o' time."


	43. Chapter 43 White Dog With Clipped Wings

Morale

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 43 White Dog With Clipped Wings

Murdock sat with his head between his hands, waiting for a sudden wave of dizziness to pass. Blood trickled down his arms from where he tore the IV tubes out.

_Shoulda been more careful, I guess. _

He sucked in a huge breath, wavering in his resolve to push himself to his feet. As he hesitated, his gaze fell on the crutches propped at the end of Hannibal's bed. Wiping the blood from his arms on his bed sheet, he eyed the Colonel as he slept.

_Wonder if I can get t' those crutches without wakin' him up. Gotta give it a try. Th' choppers're comin' 'n' goin' 'n' I should be on one o' them if I'm gonna find Face 'n' th' others. _

It was all coming together in his mind. He would hobble out of the ward on the crutches toward the latrine. If Nurse Emily stopped him, he could say he needed to go really bad and couldn't wait. It wasn't unreasonable. The amount of fluids they were pumping into him besides all the water, juice and milk he was getting would make anyone antsy for the restroom.

If Nurse Margie discovered him out there wandering around, he would lie through his teeth and tell her he was looking for that moonlight dance she promised him before the stars all disappeared for the night.

And if he made it out of the ward and to a chopper, what then? How was he going to find one ready to go and empty, let alone get up into the cockpit unassisted? How would he work the right foot pedal? He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, chiding himself for the thoughts.

_Don' matter. What'd Gramma always tell me? Ya don' build a barn by startin' with the roof. _

He leaned forward as far as he could, stretching out his left arm to grab the crutches. His fingertips barely brushed the closest one.

_Damn! I'm gonna hafta stand up after all. _

Putting all of his weight on his left leg and pushing his body up off the mattress with his left arm, he tried not to bend his right knee, tried to prevent his right leg from touching anything, not even the floor. It was impossible.

As he attempted to maintain his balance on one leg, he reached out once more for the crutches. He grasped one but not before he wobbled and shifted to his right side to avoid falling on the floor. The resulting jolt scorched his leg with new internal fire. He barely stifled the sharp cry that sprang up from the depths of his being.

His mind reeling with the pain, he blindly reached behind him for his own bed and collapsed on it. In his right hand he gripped the crutch he had worked so hard to get. He clutched it to his chest and thanked God under his breath as he quietly lay back down. The room around him was spinning too much for him to stay in a seated position.

Tears streamed down his face. He willed himself not to vomit or pass out. As the nausea and black dots retreated, he glanced at Hannibal and B. A., rejoicing that his clumsy movements had not disturbed their sleep.

_They musta got some good sleepytime meds. Least somethin's workin' in my favor. A few seconds is all I need 'n' I'll try 'gain. _

He soon discovered laying down was worse than sitting up. The memory of his dream . . . _or was it a premonition?_ . . . taunted him even more, if that was possible.

_Th' guys all huddled in that rice paddy ditch waitin' for me t' rescue 'em . . . th' gooks hidden 'mong th' trees . . . for all I know, they saw Face 'n' th' others 'n' already took 'em prisoner 'gain . . . can't let that happen . . . I gotta get to them b'fore the gooks do . . . _

He held his breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position. This time, after getting up on his left leg and shoving the crutch under his right armpit, he managed to keep his balance.

The ward was still spinning but he couldn't wait any longer. Hobbling over to the end of Hannibal's bed, Murdock maneuvered the other crutch into place and drew a few breaths to steady himself before slowly working his way along the aisle between the two rows of beds.

As he reached the door to the ward, he noted that there was no nurse at the desk. The battle responsible for the influx of so many injured soldiers must have been more than a skirmish. All available medical personnel had been pressed into duty.

_Makes it easier fer me t' get t' where I need t' be. _

He picked his way past the desk and outside into the mêlée of incoming wounded. Raising his face to the sky, he noted with a pleased smile the rose-hued approach of dawn. It was going to be a good day for a search and rescue.

Two corpsmen struggled past him bearing a litter with a screaming soldier, part of his jaw shattered and his cheek gone, his jagged teeth exposed. A bizarre thought came to Murdock and he paused to watch them hurry toward the surgical unit.

_How's he gonna eat with 'is jaw hangin' loose like that? _

Shaking his head to rid his mind of the absurd question, Murdock turned toward the Huey. The pilot was already preparing his chopper to take off again.

_Now comes the hard part. How'm I gonna hitch a ride on one o' these birds? _

He decided to ditch the crutches and try to cross the distance, bad leg and all, as quickly as he could. He had to hail that air taxi before it was too late.

_Maybe if I'm fast 'nough, I won' feel the pain. _

As soon as he tossed the crutches aside, he realized his mistake. Black dots and white fire competed for his attention when he put weight on his right side. He took two steps before collapsing to the ground in a dead faint.

oooooo

"Captain Murdock? Can you hear me?"

The voice was decidedly feminine.

_Maybe an angel? _

"Crazy fool."

_That ain' no angel, 'less angels come with really nasty attitudes and big muscles t' boot._

The next voice was unmistakable.

"Be quiet, B. A. I'll handle this."

_Shit. I didn't make it. Faceman, Wilson, Heller . . . they're still lost. _

His heart sank and he condemned himself for not being stronger.

_Dammit! That's my friends out there 'n' I failed. _

The sweet pretty face of Nurse Margie was a blur as he cracked his eyelids open just enough to affirm what he already knew. He attempted to raise his hand to touch her cheek, to make sure he was not dreaming, and found himself unable to lift his arms.

Opening his eyes wider and raising his head, he glanced down toward the foot of the bed. The IVs were back in his arms and taped down more securely than they had been. Loose cloth restraints kept his wrists at his sides. He was too weak to fight against them so he let himself collapse back onto the pillow.

Besides, his ears were buzzing with dizziness from that small movement of his head. No telling what he would feel if he _were_ able to sit up.

"You tore a few stitches but we have the antibiotics started again and you should be alright." The nurse smoothed his hair back with a cool gentle hand. "You have to relax, let yourself heal."

"That was a very foolish move, Captain." Hannibal's tone was curt and full of reprimand. The Colonel sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed and staring at him. His flinty gaze made Murdock uncomfortable.

_May as well be dead. Colonel's gonna skewer me 'n' make me charred barbeque fer this. _

"Yeah, man. What'd ya think ya were doin'?" B. A. scolded him from a bit farther away. He sounded angry, too. Murdock shifted his gaze in the Sergeant's general direction and flinched.

_Yup. Pretty pissed off at me. Glad he ain' as close t' me right now as Hann'bal is. _

The nurse gave both of his team mates a disapproving look. "He doesn't need this now, gentlemen." She turned her attention back to him, taking his hand in hers.

The pilot licked his lips before trying to defend himself. His whole mouth was dry and he became aware that he felt woozy, like he was suspended in the air.

_They musta given me somethin'. _

He frowned as he understood what was happening to his body.

_Morphine. They're givin' me morphine. Damn it all! Well, forget flyin' fer awhile. _

"Face's 'live. So's Heller 'n' Wilson." He rasped out the words and peered anxiously at Hannibal. "Ya gotta b'lieve me. Ah saw 'em."

But he could see Hannibal didn't understand.

_How do I tell 'im I saw 'em in a dream? He's gonna think I'm nuts. _

Nurse Margie patted his hand as if to comfort him but said nothing. B. A. let out a frustrated sigh.

"Ah was tryin' t' go searchin for 'em. Nobody else is. Ah saw 'em. Ah know where they are." His voice deteriorated into a series of choked sobs.

_I hate breakin' down in front o' th' Colonel 'n' B. A. Th' drugs do that t' me. Take 'way my control, make me weaker 'n I am. _

Hannibal gave B. A. a concerned glance before gazing back at Murdock with a softer expression on his face.

_What is that look 'bout? Pity? Feelin' sorry for th' rantin's of a crazy fool? _

The next words Hannibal said made Murdock's world turn upside down with their finality. "If they're still out there trying to make their way to friendly forces . . . and that's a big 'if' . . . we can't do anything about it. Doctor Stinozza has scheduled us for the next plane this afternoon to Cam Ranh Bay and the Army Convalescent Center. They have to make room for the men who came in early this morning."

"No. No, Hann'bal. Ya gotta tell 'im no," Murdock begged.

_Cam Ranh Bay. That's a'most four hundred miles from here. That's too far 'way. _

Hannibal reached out to touch Murdock's leg and then remembered. He pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry, son. We'll keep checking the grapevine to see if there are any reports of POWs turning up in this area but we have to sooner or later accept the idea we may never see them again." The Colonel's jaw muscles twitched and his gaze allowed no room for argument.

"Ah coulda found 'em if ah was up there 'stead o' havin' mah wings clipped lahk this," Murdock spat weakly, the morphine making his words sluggish and slurred.

"Colonel's right, crazy man. We gotta move on even if we wish things were diff'rent. I'm sorry, man." B. A.'s frown deepened as he cast a sympathetic look toward the pilot. He lay back down on his bed and turned his back on both of his team mates.

_But none o' them were as close t' you as they were t' me. I don' wanna hafta tell Wilson's Mary her husband ain' never comin' back. Don' wanna see th' eyes o' his li'l girl Sophie wonderin' when Daddy'll be home. Don' wanna hafta visit Heller's folks 'n' see 'em cry. 'N' Face . . . oh God . . . Face . . . _

Murdock tore his gaze away from Hannibal's and looked up into the nurse's eyes, anything to avoid the Colonel's weary expression. He felt hot liquid droplets trickle down his temples to the pillow under his head

_They won' listen. I coulda found 'em. This's all my fault. _

"The doctor has prescribed some thorazine for him, Colonel Smith. It'll help him sleep."

At those words he closed his eyes and shut out the Colonel's response.

_What does it matter anymore? Dope me up, let me sleep. Maybe I won' dream. _

As he disengaged from his surroundings, he cursed himself once again for failing to secure a chopper to find his friends.


End file.
